Lauren Blakely - Every Second With You

“Yes.”

“Found them where?” Her mom stares at her, like she’s caught Harley in a trap. But my girl is undeterred.

“You know where I found them,” Harley says crisply. “Where you hid them from me. In your bathroom cabinet.”

“So, you were actually snooping?”

Harley blows out a long stream of air. She stares at her mother, eyes wide open, and nods. “Yes. I was snooping. Because I saw the first card the day after my birthday, and I went back looking for more, and guess what? Where there’s smoke, there’s a lot of fire. Because I discovered you did this, year after year. Why? Why would you do that?”

“I think the more germane question is why would you go looking through my things?”

“Mom, don’t act like you have the moral high ground, because you don’t. I was looking through your things because you took something from me. You took my grandparents away from me. How could you do that?” Her voice threatens to break, but she stays strong. I don’t want her to give her scumbag mother the satisfaction of seeing a single fucking tear.

I stare at her mom, and I can see the cogs turning in her conniving brain. She doesn’t want to lose Harley. She rearranges her features, pushes her bottom lip out, and speaks in a low whisper. “Sweetheart, I planned to give you the cards. I had marked twenty-one on the envelope, because I planned to give them to you when you turned twenty-one. And you’re not twenty-one yet. Ergo,” she says, holding her hand out wide, as if this simple numerical justification will make Harley say, Oh sure, of course, that makes perfect sense.

“But why did I have to be twenty-one to read a frigging birthday card from my grandparents? It’s not like there was anything inappropriate in there. They were full of stories about animals and the beach. There was no reason for you to keep them from me.”

Her mom reaches across the black lacquered table, tries to clasp Harley’s hand. Harley recoils, and I want to pump my fist.

“There are things you don’t know,” her mom says, in that same calm, steady voice.

“Things that would make what you did okay?”

“Harley.” Her lowers her voice to a whisper, and I wonder if she’s forcing herself to speak so quietly because otherwise she’d explode. If there’s one thing her mom would hate, it would be a public scene. “Things about your father. About why he left me.”

“Like what?”

Her mom casts her eyes at me. “Can we talk about this privately?”

“Mom. I’m going to tell him anyway. I don’t keep secrets from Trey. You might as well say it.”

She clasps her hands more tightly, and then starts fidgeting with her watch band. “You might think I just cut you off from them. But your father was the one who cut us off. I was protecting you from him and his family. He cheated on me countless times. Over and over. He was a sex addict. That’s why I left him, and when I left I didn’t want you to have anything to do with him or his family. And he didn’t want to have anything to do with us, since he never stayed in touch, okay?” She stops to take a drink of her wine. “Now you know the truth about your father. He was a serial cheater, and an addict. His parents and I tried to help him, to get him to go to therapy, and I fought like hell to make things work. That’s why you spent the summer with them when you were six; because your father and I were trying to fix things. But it didn’t work, and I didn’t want you to have anything to do with him or them. Are you happy, now that you know? Harley, some things don’t need to be dragged into the light. Some things are better left unsaid. But there, you made me say it.”

Harley doesn’t say anything at first. I watch her closely, and she swallows hard. “I’m pregnant.”

Her mother cringes. Visibly cringes. Like, her whole face spasms. “What?”

“That’s why I’m not eating the rainbow roll.” Harley pulls on her sweater, stretching the fabric across her belly, showing the swell.

“Oh my lord in heaven,” her mother says, flinging a hand over her face. “Please say that’s a lie. Please say that’s not true.”

I pipe in. “It’s true.”

She uncovers her eyes. “Are you the father to my little girl’s baby? Or was it one of your clients? Please tell me it wasn’t my Phil,” she says, her lips quavering.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Harley says to her mom, raising her voice and snapping, just fucking snapping. “Seriously? You should be ashamed of yourself, for not being able to do math correctly. I’m four and a half months pregnant. Besides, I never slept with Phil or anyone else. Trey is the only man I’ve ever been with and will ever be with. I’m not like you. And I’m not like my father. I don’t sleep around, so don’t try to go there with me. But let me tell you something. This baby will know things I never knew. Like love. Like trust. Like having good parents. Because I have one great wish for my baby, and it’s that I never ever raise my child the way you raised me. I hope I never see you again.”

Then she tips her forehead to the front of the restaurant and walks away, leaving me alone at the table with her mother. It’s then that the waitress comes over, placing a sushi platter in front of Barb, and a yellowtail roll for me.

“I’ll be right back with the udon noodles,” she says, then flashes a smile as she returns to the clatter and the noise of the kitchen. In the background, I hear snippets of conversations and the faint notes from a pop song playing softly overhead.

I’ve often dreamed of telling Harley’s mom exactly what I think of her. Of giving her a mug that says Worst Mother in the World. Of calling her unfit, and spitting on her. But now that I’m here, none of those seem satisfying. Harley’s mom is irredeemable, and I’m not going to stoop to her level. Instead, I think of what Michele would tell me to do. Speak your truth .

Because words are all we have, and her mother might be unmoved by them, but this isn’t about her. This is about her daughter. The woman I love with every ounce of my heart and mind and soul.

“I’m no angel, Mrs. Coleman. I’ve done plenty of bad things in my life. But I know this much. That’s not how you treat people you love. That’s not how you treat anyone. You’re lucky—and by lucky, I mean it’s absolute luck and chance, and it has nothing to do with you—that your daughter is not on the streets, or worse. Everything she has made herself into is because of her, because of her heart, because of all the places in her that you could never ever touch,” I say, pointing a finger at her. She is implacable as she sits steely-eyed, arms crossed, staring harshly at me. “She is who she is not because of you, but in spite of you. I know this, too—she’s going to make an amazing mother to our child, and it has everything to do with her, and absolutely nothing to do with you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to take her home.”

Then I reach into my wallet, leave some bills on the table, and walk away, leaving her mother exactly where she belongs.

Alone.

Trey

“I thought she would change,” Harley says, wiping a hand across her cheek.

“Some people never change,” I say, softly kissing her tears away.

“But we changed, right?” Her brown eyes are so earnest. “We both worked so hard to change. To live differently. To leave the past behind.”

“Yeah, we did, and we do. Every day. But it wasn’t and it isn’t easy, and we both wanted to change. Your mom doesn’t. But she doesn’t know how, either. She doesn’t have the skills or the tools.”

“I just hoped she’d apologize. Or have a good reason. But when she said that about my father, it was so cruel. I felt like she slammed me. Like I was seeing stars.”