Here Without You

Me: Oh! I don’t want to interrupt your time with him.

Reid: Come at 9. He’ll be in bed – you won’t be interrupting. Please come.

Me: You’re sure it isn’t too late?

Reid: No such thing, Dori. I’ll open the gate – just park in your usual spot.

I have a usual spot, even if it’s been over two months since I’ve been here.

I take a deep breath and stare at the house where Reid grew up. It looks like a castle to me – a beautiful architectural monstrosity. But to him, it’s just home. He doesn’t see the world as I do – not because he wilfully refuses to, but because this is his reality. His celebrity is his reality. His career. His reputation. His son.

And he wants me to be part of this life of his.

Unbeknown to me, Mom was eavesdropping on our conversation on Sunday afternoon. I didn’t know until the next day. When she appeared at my bedroom door and asked if I had a moment to talk, I was separating the last of my clean laundry – hanging what I need for the coming week at home, packing what I’ll take back to Cal next weekend.

‘Sure, Mom. Kayla and Aimee aren’t coming to get me for a couple more hours.’

My friends planned a night out that included a movie: Hearts Over Manhattan, having no idea, of course, that it starred the mother of Reid’s child – whose existence was still a secret.

Mom perched at the end of my bed and glanced around my tidy room. ‘I’ve missed you, Dori. When Deb first left for college, it was difficult to watch her go, but her leaving didn’t silence the house – though it certainly quietened it.’

Deb, as tone-deaf as she could be, was the one who sang at the top of her lungs in the shower. She howled with laughter when talking on the phone or watching television. She banged pots and pans while cooking. It was impossible for her to enter or leave a room quietly. But she was so sweet and constantly happy that Mom and I, naturally more restrained, couldn’t criticize her innate exuberance.

Those memories are bittersweet now – rare moments that bring both laughter and tears, and leave my emotions a tangled mess.

‘You were only ten when she left for college,’ Mom said, smiling. ‘You still wanted to tell your dad and me all about your day, or help make cookies, or play with Esther. The house still felt full with you in it, and now, it’s so quiet.’

I slid a hanger through another shirt and hung it in the closet, unsure how to respond.

‘I was listening to some of your conversation yesterday. With Reid.’

I turned to face her, stunned. My mother had never been the purposefully overhearing, snooping around sort of parent. Neither of my parents was. Of course, that was before I spent the night with Reid last fall.

‘What he said – that you don’t think we know you, that you don’t think God cares about you – it’s true, isn’t it?’

I shrugged – because it was unerringly true. How can you tell a parent who’s always loved you that she doesn’t really know you at all? But I couldn’t lie to her, either.

‘You’ve been very patient with me while I figure some things out. Like the fact that you’re a smart, loving young woman, and it’s time I trust your decisions about who you choose to love. If my interference in your relationship with Reid is what’s caused you to think I don’t know you, Dori, I’m even sorrier. You’re my daughter, and I want what’s best for you. But that’s for you to decide, as hard as it is for me to admit.’

I crossed the room as she stood to hug me. ‘I’m sorry, Mom.’

Shaking her head, she said, ‘You have nothing to apologize for.’ She pulled back and took my face in her hands. ‘If you see something good in that boy, then there’s something good in him. I trust your judgement, Dori. I always have.’

‘There’s a lot of good in him, Mom. And I want to tell you about all of it. Well – most of it.’ I blushed, knowing Reid would laugh at that accidental disclosure.

A tap on my window breaks me from my reverie. I blink, because Reid is standing right there, waiting for me to exit my car.

As I release the seat belt, he’s opening my car door, and the hinges protest as they always do, though I’d swear they squeal louder when I’m parked in his driveway.

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘I’m glad you came.’ I fall in beside him and we walk inside. ‘He’s asleep. Would you … do you want to see him?’

I nod, chewing my lip.

Tiny lights line the baseboard along the hallway between River’s partially open door and the steps up to Reid’s room, like the aisles in nice theatres. Reid pushes his son’s door open and enters, barefoot. I slip my flip-flops off in the hallway and follow him.

The room is dark, but there are two nightlights, and after a minute, our eyes have adjusted well enough to cross the room. Along with shelves of toys, I spy a television and game console, a huge overstuffed chair, and a perfectly proportioned desk.

The bed is raised, with a ladder at the end, but isn’t quite high enough to be a bunk. His small body curled around a stuffed dog, River is wearing pyjamas covered in cartoon ants, of all things. Unmistakably blond, his hair is longer than it was in the picture on Reid’s phone. His lips are parted, the lightest snore emanating from him.

I’ve always loved kids, but knowing this little boy is Reid’s takes that appeal a step further. I have to clench my hands into fists to keep from reaching out to touch him. ‘He’s beautiful,’ I say.

Reid stares down at me with dark eyes, his hair almost as light as River’s – no colour, as though he’s a black and white version of himself in his white T-shirt and dark jeans. He takes my hand and leads me from the room.