Love & Other Disasters(85)

Her mom took a deep breath, regained some composure.

“What I mean to say, Dahlia, is that my whole life, I’ve tried to do what I was supposed to do. I never allowed myself to listen to what I actually wanted. I am so, so proud of you, that you do that, that you always have.”

Dahlia knew she should be soaking this in, letting it absorb all of the hurt inside of her, turning that hurt into something better. But instead, she just felt confused.

And a little angry, too. That apparently her mom had always been so, so proud of her but was only actually expressing that right now.

“So you’re not . . . disappointed in me?”

“No, Dahlia,” her mom replied immediately. “Of course not. I’m sorry if . . . ” She trailed off, seemingly lost in thought.

“It’s like, since I always kept my head down,” her mom started again, “never listened to my instincts, sometimes I feel like my whole adult life has been surprise after surprise. I was surprised when you told me you were getting a divorce. If I acted poorly, that’s why. I’m sorry. But I had no idea, and from what you said, things hadn’t been good for a while. I know I’m not your dad, I know we’re not . . . friends, but a mother should still know when her child is unhappy. So I was upset at myself. And then, like I said, after I realized you were the instigator of the divorce, that you went through this horrible, scary thing because you believed in your own happiness . . .”

The moisture in her mom’s eyes reappeared then, with force, threatening to spill. But ever the queen of composure, she sniffed, wiping it away.

“I was jealous. Proud, but jealous. Which is a selfish thing to feel. I’m sorry.”

“But . . . Mom . . . sorry, I don’t get it. You went through that horrible, scary thing, too, yourself.”

“Yes,” her mother said simply. She sat stiffly, smoothing her palms over her jeans. “My divorce was different. But it isn’t appropriate to talk about that with you.”

Dahlia blinked at her. And suddenly, she got it.

Her parents’ divorce hadn’t been what her mom wanted.

Her parents’ divorce must have been another surprise.

“I’ve been going to therapy,” her mom said swiftly, moving past this. “I know I can only control my own reactions to things, and no one else’s, even my children’s. But I suppose I . . . wanted you to know more about my reactions. In case I have not explained them well in the past.”

Dahlia’s jaw hung slack in shock.

“Mom,” she said after an awkward pause. “You’re going to therapy?”

“There’s nothing wrong with therapy,” her mom chirped.

“I know,” Dahlia said immediately.

“But yes. It wasn’t just Hank that inspired me to come down here.” Her mom studied her fingernails, a sly, funny hint of a smile growing on her face. “Nonna and Nonno would be rolling in their graves, probably.”

“Maybe not,” Dahlia said. “You never know.” And then, “What else took you by surprise? You said your whole adult life was surprise after surprise.”

Dahlia was trying to picture her mom as a person now. Not as her mom, but a regular person with insecurities and doubts. It was like the puzzle of her mother was suddenly coming together, piece by piece, and Dahlia wanted to see all of it.

Her mother shook her head quickly, as if she’d already said too much.

But then she said, “I can tell you one thing that took me by surprise. You.” She looked up, eyes twinkling, staring directly at Dahlia for the first time. “Being on TV.” She gestured to the dark, quiet screen opposite them. “And flourishing on it.”

“Really?” Dahlia bit the inside of her cheek to try to quiet the smile that had exploded on her face at approval from her mother, approval she was actually tempted to believe.

Another win for Team Dahlia.

Attempting a tone of cool calm, she asked, “You think I flourished on it? Even with falling on my face?”

“Of course,” her mother said. “You’re so full of life on-screen, Dahlia. You’re a natural.”

Her mother reached over and picked up her soup. Finishing the conversation.

Silently, brain reeling, Dahlia shifted in her seat and reached over for her own bowl. It was still warm.

“Speaking of the show,” her mom said, “I never got to watch the latest episode. Do you have it saved? Would it feel strange to watch it together?”

Dahlia shook her head slowly.

Her mom had interrupted her Chef’s Special marathon last night after the second episode. Dahlia hadn’t watched the third one either.

Dahlia picked up the remote.

“Hey, Mom?” she said. Her mom looked at her.

“I’m really glad you came down.”

And when she said it, Dahlia realized it was true. Not only because of everything her mom had just told her, but because packing up everything she owned by herself had been so very lonely. And because she hadn’t been quite sure, exactly, how she was going to navigate her furniture by herself into the U-Haul. And even though Dahlia liked to think she could drive a U-Haul hundreds of miles by herself, it would still be nice, knowing her mom would be following behind, making sure she was safe.

Dahlia and her mom hadn’t hugged once since her mom had shown up at her doorstep the night before. But the smile Dahlia’s mom gave her now felt close enough.