“Busy doing what? Mrs. Patterson said you moved out of the extended stay place weeks ago. Where are you living?”
I looked around James’ beautiful kitchen at the fresh flowers he’d brought home that morning, at the expensive wine glasses sitting on the counter.
“I’m staying with a friend.”
“What friend? Mom, you don’t have any friends with money.”
His assumption stung, partly because it had been true for so long after Harold died.
I’d let most of my friendships fade. Too tired and too proud to maintain relationships when I had nothing to offer in return.
“You’d be surprised,” I said coolly.
There was a pause, and I could practically hear him processing this information.
“Mom, I think we need to talk. Sophia and I have been discussing the situation, and we think maybe we were too hasty. Maybe you could stay in our guest room for a while. Just until you get back on your feet.”
The offer that would have meant everything to me a month ago now felt hollow, insulting even.
“What changed your mind?”
Another pause.
“We realized we might have been too focused on our own needs. Family should stick together.”
What he meant, I realized, was that he’d probably heard through the neighborhood gossip network that his mother wasn’t living in a shelter anymore.
Someone had mentioned seeing her with a well-dressed man in an expensive car.
Marcus was curious, and curiosity had made him generous.
“That’s very kind of you,” I said. “But I’m perfectly happy where I am.”
“Mom, you can’t just move in with some stranger. It’s not safe. What do you even know about this person?”
“I know that he’s never made me feel like a burden,” I said quietly. “I know that he values my company and appreciates my cooking and tells me I’m beautiful every single day.”
The silence that followed was so long I thought he might have hung up.
“Is this some kind of relationship?” Marcus finally asked, his voice tight with something I couldn’t identify.
Disapproval? Embarrassment?
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” I said, surprising myself with my directness.
“Of course, it’s my business. You’re my mother. I’m worried about you being taken advantage of.”
“Like you took advantage of me.”
The words came out before I could stop them.
Sharp and bitter.
“Mom, that’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it? You turned me away when I needed help most. You chose your girlfriend’s comfort over your mother’s safety. And now that you think I might have found happiness somewhere else, suddenly you’re concerned about my welfare.”
I could hear Sophia’s voice in the background, but I couldn’t make out the words.
“Look,” Marcus said, his tone shifting to the reasonable, patient voice he used when he thought I was being difficult. “Why don’t you bring your friend to dinner on Sunday? We’d like to meet him.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I said no, Marcus. You don’t get to approve or disapprove of my choices anymore. You gave up that right when you kicked me out.”
“We didn’t kick you out. We just thought—”
“You thought about yourselves, just like you’re doing now.”
I took a deep breath, feeling stronger than I had in years.
“I’m happy, Marcus. Truly happy for the first time in longer than I can remember. If you want to be part of my life, you’re welcome to try, but you don’t get to dictate the terms anymore.”
I hung up before he could respond, my hands shaking slightly from the adrenaline of finally saying what I should have said weeks ago.
James found me a few minutes later, standing at the kitchen window and staring out at his gardens without really seeing them.
“Everything all right?” he asked, wrapping his arms around me from behind.
I leaned back against his chest, letting his warmth chase away the chill of dealing with Marcus.
“My son called. He wants to meet you.”
“Good,” James said, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting him.”
I turned in his arms, studying his face.
“You’re not worried about what he’ll think, what he’ll say?”
James smiled, that confident smile that had first made me fall in love with him.
“Wanda, I’ve been waiting 50 years for you to come home to me. I’m not about to let anyone, not even your son, make you doubt that you belong here.”
As I stood in his arms in that beautiful kitchen, I realized he was right.
I did belong here.
Not because of his money or his house or his success, but because of the way he looked at me like I was the answer to every prayer he’d ever whispered.
For the first time since the tornado, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
The wedding was nothing like my first one.
When I married Harold 48 years ago, it was all about what other people expected.
White dress, church ceremony, reception at the community center with a DJ and a cash bar.
We invited everyone we knew and several people we didn’t particularly like because that’s what you did.
You performed the ritual for the community, not for yourselves.
This time, James and I did exactly what we wanted.
The ceremony took place in his back garden on a crisp October morning, 6 months after that phone call in the McDonald’s parking lot.
The minister was an old friend of James’s, and the only witnesses were Maria, the housekeeper, and Thomas, James’s business partner and best friend for 30 years.
I wore a simple blue dress that James said brought out my eyes, and he wore a charcoal suit that made him look distinguished and handsome.