Don't Let Go(90)

“Well, it doesn’t matter, Bec,” I said. “People can see all they want, it doesn’t mean it’s gonna work out that way.”
“But it makes you sad.”
I smiled slowly. “Tell me about this year-off idea you have.”
“Wow, subject change of the century,” she said, taking a drink.
I widened my eyes at her. “Take the moment, baby.”
She inhaled and let it go. “Okay. I’m not talking about blowing it off, I just—” She stopped and looked at her hands for a minute. “I’d like to concentrate on my writing for a while without having to do school stuff, too.”
I sat back. I hadn’t expected an actual reason. “Your writing.”
“Yeah,” she said, licking her lips and fidgeting with her napkin. “I don’t even know if I’m any good at it, but I’d like to find out. Maybe submit a story to a magazine or something. I did some research online and I have a—list . . .” Her voice trailed off as she looked up at me. “I just don’t want to settle for something else before giving it a shot, Mom.”
The tears I’d managed to put away came back for a second attempt. It was like sitting across the table from my mother years earlier, having a very similar conversation.
I’d been accepted at a state school for the arts. It was four hours away and a chance to find my sanity again. But that wasn’t practical or logical, and so the dream I’d manufactured for years was shredded in a matter of seconds. I took business courses instead, to ready me for running the store.
I looked at my daughter’s hopeful expression, my skin buzzing from head to toe.
“Take the year,” I said, my voice gone husky and foreign to me.
Becca blinked. “What?”
I nodded, a rush of warmth spreading over me, making me stop and take a deep breath. “Take the year, and do it seriously,” I said. “If at that time you decide you want to go into creative writing or journalism or whatever, or something else entirely, then at least you can make an educated decision.”
Becca’s face was priceless. “Are you serious?” she whispered.
The absolute relief and joy and hope in her tone made my heart heal a little, right there on the spot. For one second, I felt I’d done something right.
“Never settle, baby,” I said, quickly whisking a rogue tear away. “Never, ever settle.”
Her eyes misted up, and the smile that grew as her mind started working on her newfound possibilities was refreshing.
“Thank you, Mom.”
“So, do I get to read any of this stuff?” I said.
Her smile grew even bigger although a little anxious. I recognized that anxiety. Once upon a time, no one saw my work until my signature was at the bottom and I’d deemed it done. Even then, I’d panic a little.
“Yeah, but I have to work on some things, first.”
“Whenever you’re ready,” I said.
Becca looked at me, leaning forward, a new energy in her eyes. “You know, there are some non-credit summer writing classes I heard about, that are just like a few weeks long.”
“And your job?”
“I can work around that,” she said, shrugging off what had been the biggest news of the night just thirty minutes before. “What if you take some art classes, too?”
I nearly spewed a mouthful of Coke.
“Oh, wow.”
“I’m serious!” she said. “We could be part-time students together.”
I laughed, tickled at her sudden gusto. But would that just tease me back into something I didn’t have time for? Then again, why the hell not.
“Get me the info,” I said. “I might just take you up on that.”
“Deal.”
Our food came and I took that fried food down like it was my last meal. I looked at it as only the beginning of a heartburn-filled weekend. The chili cook-off guaranteed the rest.
Sitting back, fat and happy, I studied Becca’s demeanor. It was like the weight of the world had been lifted. How is it that I never saw how simple that would be?
“I want to be with you when you get your tattoo,” I said.
Another look of astonishment. I was really learning to love that shock value.
“Who are you?” she said, looking at me like I’d sprouted horns.
I opened my mouth to respond something cute, and then paused and closed it. “Maybe someone I wished my mom could have been,” I said. “And seriously, I want to be sure you’re at a safe place—it’ll be my graduation present. Start researching it.”
Her jaw dropped. “Seriously, you’re trusting me? With all of this? School and everything?
Burn. Again.
“Yeah,” I said. “I am.”
And that, dear Mother, is how it’s done.

? ? ?

There was a letter stuck in my door when we got home, like I’d closed it in the jamb a couple of times. Must have missed it. Wasn’t hard to figure out the pretty handwriting on the envelope, but it made my stomach hurt just the same.
I waited till Becca left to open it.

Hey Jules,
Short and sweet, but if you don’t know already, I’m going back home. I need family around to do this thing alone, and it’s not Noah’s fault about that. I’m actually glad it all came out, because I don’t think I would have had the stamina to hold that secret forever. And that would have been even more wrong.
I just wanted to tell you good-bye. You have been a really good friend to me. One I would have never expected to have, and I was blessed to know you.
He loves you, Jules. That’s a hard thing for me to write . . . it took me a few minutes to do it. But it’s true, and impossible to miss. And it’s okay, because I feel in my gut that it’s probably meant to be that way. I think you still love him, too, although you don’t admit it, maybe not even to yourself. You two have that thing that we all hope to find. Cherish that. Take care of him.