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“Downstairs, keeping the floor manager busy so I could sneak up here.”
“Traitor,” I mutter.
That gets a small smile from her. I can’t remember the last time I made my mother smile. Then again, do I even look for it anymore?
“Don’t think that way. She was worried about you. I’m worried about you.”
“Me?” I laugh, but even I hear the hurt laced through it.
“Oh, honey. This is all my fault.”
“Why, ’cause you tricked Dad into having me?”
A long sigh. “I didn’t trick anyone. I—” She regroups. “Let me start at the beginning.” She nods once like she was asking herself what to do. Regaining her composure, she starts again. “My marriage to your father wasn’t a love match.”
I scoff. “What a surprise.”
She continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “We both went into it willingly, our families convincing us that a mutually beneficial marriage was a good option. Moore’s needed the Hawthorns’ influx of ready cash, and the Hawthorns wanted the prestige of the old and glamorous Moore name. The fact that my children would be guaranteed a part of that legacy was also compelling.”
I snort, thinking where that legacy has brought us.
“But I misstepped,” Mom continues. “At the very start, Stan said he only wanted one child. I agreed. At the time, I didn’t know any better, didn’t understand how much I’d love being a mother.”
Her focus rests on the bottle of Scotch, but I don’t think she actually sees it. She’s lost in memories.
“For the first four years after Thomas was born, everything seemed to be going well. Your father had money to invest into the business, I had Thomas at home with me, and the three of us were content. But then it was time for Thomas to go to school, and things… changed.
“Your father insisted on certain schools. Only enrolled Thomas in specific extracurriculars. Didn’t want me playing make-believe anymore or going to mommy groups or arranging playdates for him. Said I was making him too soft.” Her delicate hands clasp tightly together. “In the span of a few months, I was shoved aside so that Thomas could be groomed to take over the Moore legacy.” She looks at me, eyes pleading. “I fought it. I tried. But your father…” Her shoulders slumped, defeated. “Let’s just say it was a battle I didn’t win.”
She takes a moment to compose herself. “When I got pregnant with you, please believe me, it wasn’t a trick. Your father and I still shared a bed at that stage in our marriage.”
I must make a face because my mom chuckles softly.
“As soon as I found out I was pregnant, I knew your father wouldn’t be happy. But I thought, since he genuinely seemed to care for Thomas, he wouldn’t be able to help loving you too.”
“You were wrong.” I throw back the rest of my drink.
Another deep sigh. “Yes. I was.”
In the silence that statement brings, I refill my glass.
“That was the beginning of the end of any sort of peaceful existence between your father and me.” She leans forward, plucks the glass from my hand, and puts it aside before grasping both of my hands in hers. “None of that, or what came after, was your fault.” Her eyes bore into mine, but I can’t bring myself to answer. “Do you hear me? Not your fault, my darling boy.”
I’m ashamed to say my eyes feel hot at her words.
“I mean it, Chase Hawthorn Moore. You are everything that is good. I just wish I had done things differently, or, I don’t know, left your father once he became so hardened.”
I blow out a hot breath, trying to will the tears away. “Why didn’t you?”
She squeezes my hands once before sitting back, shrugging her thin shoulders. “I was afraid he’d take you from me. Both of you. Or even try to separate the two of you. So I stayed. For a while, it was like your father and I called a truce. Stan had Thomas, and I had you.” She gets that faraway look in her eyes again. “We had great times together when you were little. Do you remember?”
I shake my head.
“Finger painting in the yard? Building Lego towers so tall we had to get a ladder? Making up our own lyrics to nursery rhymes?”
As soon as she says the words, the memories come back like long-lost childhood friends. Memories I forgot I had. Her calling me her darling boy. Her laughter, bright and loud. Her hugs and kisses.
“But as you got older, the more time I spent with you, the harder he was on you. Every time I praised you, he beat you down with words. Every special occasion, he made sure Thomas was center stage. It was like he was trying to punish me through you. Turn my children against me in a game they didn’t know they were playing.” Her voice catches, and she takes a deep breath, collecting herself.
