“It’s not an excuse, and I don’t want it to be one. But I’m still their daughter.”

“I understand that,” I say. “But it hurts. To see you stand there and let them treat me the way that they do. It’s almost like you’re signing your approval.”

She nods carefully. “I know. I know that. There’s a lot that I have to apologize for.”

“But you aren’t the only one who’s made mistakes,” I say.

“No. I’m not. But I’m the parent, and you’re the child. And obviously, I failed at my job.”

“Mom—”

“No, you don’t have to say anything, Neil. I know that I failed you, and that I’ve hurt you. I know that I failed as a parent, that I did the wrong things. And that I’m not the only one here at fault.”

“You’re not,” I tell her. “I was an awful kid. Still am.”

“You’re not awful,” she starts to say. “Well … okay, you had your moments. We both did the wrong things. And we hurt each other a lot.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell her again. “For everything. For the things that I’ve said to you, for sneaking out, for everything that I’ve said behind your back, for the way that I’ve acted at this wedding.”

“I deserved my fair share of it.” She gives me a sad look. “There aren’t really words that I can say to make it up to you, for the things that I’ve put you through, and what your grandparents have said to you.”

“And there’s nothing I can say after what I’ve put you through.”

She laughs. “Do you think a mom and a son have ever had a conversation like this before?”

“If they had, then we’d probably know what to say to each other.”

“Fair enough.” She reaches over, putting her finely manicured hand on my knee. “I’m sorry, Neil.”

“I’m sorry too, Mom.”

“We can talk more after the wedding.”

“I think that’d be nice,” I say.

This doesn’t feel fixed. It’d be hard for a single conversation to repair sixteen years of trouble between the both of us. But it feels like we’re on the right road, at least for the time being. Who knows, our egos could get the best of us, and everything could unravel. But I like the idea of having honest conversations with my mom for the first time ever.

“Now …” She straightens, pulling herself together. “We need to talk about Wyatt.”

“God, I really don’t want to do that.”

She ignores me. “You faked the whole thing?”

“Mom.”

She holds her hands up defensively. “We don’t have to discuss it; we don’t have to talk about it. I just wanted to know why.”

“Isn’t that discussing it?”