Mom walks to the counter, keeping her back to me. The more I think about Eurotripping, the more appealing the idea becomes.
“What if something happens to you? Or you get sick? You’ll be on your own, for God’s sake!” Her voice doesn’t hide the fear and anxiety in her words.
“Nothing will happen to me. I’ll call you every morning and evening . . . anytime you want. Just think about it, okay? Please?”
After a few minutes of silence, she gives me a curt nod and relaxes her shoulders. She says with reluctance, “I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you.” For the first time today, I smile seeing the light at the end of this heartbreak tunnel.
On Thursday morning, I wake up to a soft knock on my door, then someone calling my name. Seconds later, I hear the door creak open, followed by feet padding on the tiles. My bed dips before a hand tugs the sheet wrapped tightly around my body.
“Morning, Grace,” Mom greets, sounding cheerful. Four days post-break up and she still acts like finding out that I lied to her about me and Sol wasn’t earth-shattering, which makes me feel even more guilty. I pull down the sheets, exposing my head. “I need you to sign something for me.”
She waves the papers in her hands, and I catch a glimpse of the word passport.
I sit up, smiling. “I’m going to Europe?” She nods and stands. Scrambling out of bed, I join her, grab one of the pens on my desk, then sign my name on the dotted line on the form.
“What made you change your mind?” I ask.
She sighs. “You were right. You are old enough to do things on your own. . . I can’t bear to see you hurting and if this is what you need, then do it.” She swallows and rubs her forehead with one hand as if trying to soothe her thoughts. “I’m constantly worried about losing you, and as much as I want to keep you close, I know I have to let you go at some point. I want you to experience the world. I never got to do that.”
Tears well up in my eyes and stream down my cheeks, partly because of her words and the other part because she’s letting me go no matter how much it pains her.
I want to ask her to come with me. I know she would say yes. But I need to grow up and learn to handle my own problems without always running to my mother.
She leans her hip on the desk. “I’ll pay for your ticket and accommodations.”
“You don’t have to pay for the expenses. I’ve been saving—”
She lifts a hand to stop me. “Your grandparents set up an account in your name when you were ten years old. I wasn’t ever planning to use that money, but it will come in handy on this trip.”
My eyes widen in shock. “Really?”
She nods.
I don’t know why I’m shocked, given they plan on paying for college. It’s so hard to know where they stand when it comes to me. Their actions over the years show they care. Or is it guilt for wanting my mother to get rid of me when she was pregnant?
Whatever their reason, I’m thankful for them. It eases some of the burden my mom has had to carry all these years.
My lips stretch into a genuine smile. “I’ll start packing, then. Oh my God, I need suitcases, new clothes—”
“Not so fast, Grace. You still have time until the passport arrives. In the meantime, I need you to cover the afternoon shift at the diner.”
”Of course.” Right now, she could ask me to climb Mt. Everest, and I’d go running.
She starts to walk out of the room, but slows down at the door. “Chris is coming to dinner, then we’re going dancing.”
“He is? So, we can talk about him now?” I ask. She nods, smiling. I blurt out, “You like him?” When I met him last Sunday, he didn’t give off any creepy vibes. He and my mom have gone out twice already, and I’ve never seen my mother so happy.
She nods. “Yes, we can talk about him now. I really like him, Grace. I’m happy you two will get to know each other.”
“Can’t wait, Mom.” And I mean it. “Do you need help with anything? Getting dinner ready or grab a bottle of wine from the store on my way home . . .”
“Thank you, sweetheart. Pretty sure I’ve got everything covered.” She clears her throat, suddenly looking unsure. “It’s not too weird, is it? I mean, inviting Chris for dinner even though we haven’t known each other for long.”
“I think it’s nice.” Her brows bunch into a frown. “Don’t overthink it. It’s going to be great.”
She exhales and smiles. “Okay. Love you.”
“Love you, Mom.”
On my way to the diner, I drive to St. Peter’s Church before I change my mind. I haven’t been to confession in weeks, and I’m nervous at the thought of facing Sol’s uncle.
I’m earlier than usual, hoping to catch Father Foster in his office before he starts taking confession. But I’m out of luck when I find the office empty, so I make my way inside the church and join the people waiting for their turn. I opt to wait until the last person comes out of the confessional box.
By the time it’s my turn, my heart is racing in my chest and I’m sweating. I stand and walk inside the dark wooden box. I perform the normal spiel on autopilot, as does Father Foster. I swear I hear the sudden intake of air on the other side of the mesh. When I get to the part where I’m supposed to list my sins, I finally mumble, “Um, I—I wanted to apologize for making a mess out of everything. It was selfish of me to continue what Sol and I were doing. I’m sorry—”
“I know you are,” he interrupts me in a soft rumble of his voice. I see movement through the mesh before he clears his throat, and says, “I know how it feels to love someone so much you feel as if you can survive on that feeling alone. Believe me, I do.”
I’m waiting for him to tell me that if I want to talk, we should do it in his office and not in here.
He surprises me when he says, “The only people who came close to that kind of love for Sol were his parents. And when they died, it broke him. He found peace in the Church. I watched him become a God-fearing young man, and I was so proud. I didn’t hide it from him, and now I know I’m partly to blame, too. I know he looks up to me. I’ve seen the respect and admiration in his eyes. He wanted to follow in my footsteps so badly; he didn’t want to disappoint me or the boys in the youth group.”
Father Foster is quiet for several moments. I don’t say anything, mainly because I have a feeling he wants to get this off his chest.
“He never expected to find that kind of love again until you came along. Everything changed. He was conflicted about which path to take and felt guilty for wanting you but not wanting to break the vow he made to himself and God.”
Not knowing what to say, I mull over his words. He’s given me a better understanding of Sol’s emotional state.
“Have you talked to him?” I finally ask.
I see his head move behind the mesh, and I assume he’s nodding. “Sol had a talk with his spiritual director. He’s scheduled to meet with the rector when he returns from Quebec in the next few days.” Luke pauses, then says, “He asked about you.”
“He did?” I question before I can stop myself. Ugh. I sound so desperate and hopeful. I clear my throat. “I’m taking it one day at a time.”