My mother wanted me to join her as she drove around looking at apartments, because for whatever reason she valued my opinion on housing. She’d just gotten a job with a decent salary at a nearby hospital, and Evan and Sinead’s baby was crying and keeping her up every night, so she was eager to get out on her own. Unfortunately, a decent salary in LA didn’t get you much apartment-wise, and she seemed disappointed by some of what she saw. She didn’t want a crazy commute and she wanted to be close-ish to her kids, which meant she had to be willing to consider places junkier than her upper middle-class upbringing had prepared her for.

            Still, I had managed to convince her that a studio wasn’t all that bad if she was a single gal living on her own in the big city, and she really didn’t need a patio because she had no green thumb and she could walk outside any time she wanted. Eventually she found a place that got her a little excited, because it had a pretty big kitchen for the size of the place, its appliances were all new, and it had huge windows looking out across the pool and courtyard below.

            “Do you think it’s a good deal?” my mom asked me, as if I fucking knew.

            “Yeah, sure.” I pointed to the bare laminate floor. “Are you going to put a bare mattress here on the floor like a true bachelor?”

            My mom slapped my arm and laughed. “I’ll set up a beer can Christmas tree on the holidays, too.”

            My mom liked the place enough that she told the woman showing us around that she was ready to sign a lease. I was excited for her, because this was going to be the first time since her teenage years that she was out on her own, gainfully employed, single, and not dependent upon her husband or her mother’s cash. I think my mother was more nervous than she let on, which was probably why she’d invited me to help her pick out an apartment when I was about as clueless about the process as she was. I hoped that she stayed independent instead of immediately finding some boyfriend to latch onto like she had Stupid Gary or my dad. No one deserved to have fun and date around more than her. I was hoping she’d play the cougar card and find a couple of thirty-somethings to take her out and show her a good time, someone to make her feel young and sexy again. That’s what I’d want, if I were in her shoes. Her kids had moved out—it was now time to treat herself.

            After signing the lease, I followed my mother out into the parking lot and into the car.

            “Where do you want to go to celebrate?” she asked me with a big grin. “Italian? Mexican?”

            “Wherever they serve wine by the bottle.”

            “Look up what’s close on your phone,” my mom insisted, so I did as told and found a Japanese hibachi place that sounded vaguely fancy about half a mile away. So that’s where we went, my mom still a little giddy with excitement over her “new life” as a single working woman.

            I didn’t want to kill the vibe, but I also knew I probably wouldn’t have another chance this good to bring up Kent’s offer, so after we’d eaten and my mom had gotten through at least one glass of wine, I decided to tell her the truth.

            “So, uh, Mom? Can we talk about something serious for a moment?”

            “Mhm,” my mom said as she took another sip of wine.

            “Um, so I’ve been… so I, uh, got a little curious and was snooping around on Facebook for—for my dad.”

            “Hmm?” Now my mom tilted her head slightly with a furrowed brow, confused.

            “I didn’t find him there, but I found his wife, Zahra. Did you know that my dad was married?”

            “Oh.” My mom frowned a little, then put her wine glass down. “Yes, I knew that.”

            “Have you talked to her?”

            “Why would I do that, Justin?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Why were you snooping around on Facebook for him?”

            “Because I was thinking of maybe contacting him.”

            My mom stared at me a few seconds, lips pursed. But she didn’t seem mad, just a little perplexed. “Honey, if you wanted to get in touch with him, you could have asked me. I have his number and email.”

            “You do? Wh—why did you didn’t you tell me that?”

            “You didn’t ask.”

            “I thought you didn’t talk to him.”

            “We email occasionally. He asks me how you’re doing. I reply.”

            Now I was the one frowning. “Mom, you never told me that either.”

            “You’ve never expressed an interest in anything to do with your father.”

            “You could have told me that he’s been asking about me. You’ve always made it seem like he’s never given a shit.”

            “I’ve never said that. He’s always been interested, but he’s never been in a place where I felt comfortable encouraging your communication. I didn’t want him to get involved in your life and then disappoint you constantly.”

            “Didn’t you think that the decision should have been mine to make?”

            “When you were three years old? I don’t think so.”

            “But when I was older! You could have asked me if I wanted him in my life.”

            “Justin…” My mom trailed off and shook her head. “Sweetheart, hindsight is 20/20, right? At the time, I thought it was important that you see Gary as your father figure. He was stable and there for you, I didn’t think—” When I snorted derisively, she scowled. “Don’t give me that.”

            “You didn’t think that maybe I’d want to have my biological dad involved in my life? That maybe Gary wasn’t the best dad for me?”

            “And Kent would have been better? He was a mess. He could barely take care of himself, and most of the time he called me drunk. You think I wanted to bring that influence into our house? I mean, God, especially in your teenage years, that would have been disastrous. I’ll give him credit for trying, but he broke every promise he made to me and had the audacity to tell me it’d be different next time. I wasn’t unsympathetic to his problem, but I didn’t want it affecting you.”

            “Yeah, that went well, didn’t it? Sucking dick for coke at sixteen.”

            “Justin.” Now my mom looked pissed as she gripped the edge of the table and glowered at me. “I did what I thought was best for you. Every decision I made was to protect you. And you might resent me for that, but I don’t regret putting your welfare first, even if it meant leaving Kent to his own devices.”

            I didn’t want to get in a shouting match with my mom in the middle of this semi-fancy restaurant, so I took a few deep breaths like my therapist from many years ago taught me to. I hadn’t brought this up so we could scream at each other. I needed to know what my mom thought about a possible trip to Montana to meet my dad for the first time since I was a year old.

            “Mom,” I muttered to my plate, pressing my palms against the plastic surface of the table, “I was able to get Kent’s email address from Zahra, and so I emailed him.”

            “And?”

            “And he apologized for everything and offered to fly me out to Montana to meet him, Zahra, and my half-brother Charlie.”

            My mom stared at me again, this time as if she didn’t quite know who I was. Eventually she cleared her throat and looked away, sliding a hand across her jawline.

            “Do you—do you think I should do it?” I asked.

            “I don’t know. You’re an adult and you can make your own decisions.”

            “I know, but you know him better than I do. He says he’s been sober for five years now, and he seems to have his life in order. I think I want to meet him.”

            My mom’s eyes softened as her shoulders sank. “Honey, if you want to meet him, then maybe you should.”

            “Really? You’ve spent over twenty years keeping him from me and now you’re fine with me contacting him?”

            She sighed and reached for her wine glass, taking another sip. “He’s never been sober this long. Maybe he’s finally done it. Even if he hasn’t, I think there’s value in meeting your brother.”

            “You know about Charlie?”

            She nodded wearily. “Yeah, he told me about him. Sent me a picture when he was born.”

            “You didn’t tell me that.”

            “I wasn’t sure how to.” She rubbed her forehead, then pushed her hair back. “It’s been over twenty years. I decided that I’d only bring it up if you wanted to know.”

            We sat in silence for a few moments. I had expected my mom to tell me that visiting Kent would be a terrible decision, but instead she seemed accepting of the idea. As the foremost expert on all things Kent, her opinion meant a lot to me.

            “You do remind me of him at times,” my mom muttered, her gaze meeting mine.

            “You mean the hopeless addict parts?”

            “Well, that was a particularly terrifying part of him that I hated seeing in you, but there are good parts too.”

            “Like?”

            “When I first met him, he seemed so serious. But the longer I knew him, the goofier he was. You’re a bit like that.”

            “What? I’m goofy?”

            She chuckled. “When you don’t make me crazy, you make me laugh.”

            “Yeah, congrats on having a clown for a son.”

            My mom put her hand to her mouth as she giggled. Then she reached out and touched my wrist, giving me that proud “mom” smile that always made me squirm in my seat.

            “As much as I’ve hated him at times, I’m forever grateful that Kent gave me you,” she said. “I wouldn’t do any of it over.”

            “Moooom,” I whined, rubbing the blush from my face. “Don’t.”

            She smiled, patted the back of my hand, and pulled away.