To Be a Hero | MLB

29: The Talk

That night, well after everyone has gone to bed, I find myself restless. I've grown tired of staring up at my ceiling, so I roll onto my side to face the tiny cushion I set up a few days ago for Lorri to sleep on. I take that cushion now and squeeze it, missing my little kwami friend.

Sure, she was a little annoying at first—she never stopped talking when we were alone—but now I miss having someone to talk to. And even if I didn't tell her everything about my plan, it was nice to have someone to listen to and support me.

Not wanting to wallow in my feelings any longer, I slide out of bed and creep into the hall outside my room, grateful for my socks muffling my footsteps. I pass my younger brothers' closed bedroom door and round the corner into the kitchen. My eyes adjust to the darkness, and I see my mother sitting at the kitchen table, cradling a cup of something in her hands. She sniffles softly, and I consider heading back to my room to give her some privacy.

"Tori, would you like to sit with me?"

I sigh and join her, sneaking a glance at my older brothers' sleeping forms in the family room. Jaxon's sprawled out on the couch under a blanket, and Jakob is on the mattress on the floor, covered by a comforter. I smile softly, remembering how often they used to fight for the mattress, and how my mom had to create a chart system to force them to take turns every night.

"What's got you out of bed?" my mom whispers, and I turn back to her. "Sneaking out?"

My smile falls instantly. "Yup, just going out to party in my pajamas."

"I was kidding, Tori."

"Oh, really? Were you kidding these past few days, too?"

"What are you talking about?"

She can't be serious. "You don't even trust me to walk home alone anymore, Mom. You don't trust me to contact you when I need to. You don't trust me not to sneak out in the middle of the night." I lean across the table toward her. "I'm a good kid. I get better grades than Jaxon, I don't get in nearly as much trouble as the triplets, and... and I'm not a snitch, like Jakob. And yet, you give them all the attention and praise, and you treat me like... like I'm nothing. Like I'm the bad one."

My mom is silent for a while as she stares down into her mug. When she speaks, her voice is even quieter than before. "Is that really how you've been feeling?"

I nod.

"That explains why you've been so rebellious."

I scoff—

"But your behavior isn't entirely your fault. It's... It's also mine."

I sit back to wait for her response. She takes a few minutes to gather her thoughts, then glances up at me.

"When my job informed me we'd be moving to Paris, I felt conflicted. On one hand, I was thrilled. Paris is where your father and I met, as you know, and I was excited to revisit such a city so important to me. But on the other hand, Paris brings back lots of memories, and not all of them are... that great."

"What do you mean?"

"Slow down, slow down. I'm getting there. Did I ever tell you how I met your father in the first place? No? Well. At home in New York, my parents often treated me like I was... invisible, and I was growing tired of it. So, the day I turned eighteen, I stole one of their credit cards, bought myself a plane ticket, and jetted it halfway across the world. I thought that if I went far enough away, they'd start to miss me and realize just how important I was to them, and then... maybe we could be a happy family for once." She stops to wipe her eyes, and I swallow around a lump in my throat.

"Anyway, I chose Paris because, well, it's Paris, and I'd heard so many great things about the place. I was just planning on staying for a few weeks, maybe a month at most, before returning home. Meeting your father was never part of the plan.

"But after we did meet, we had so much fun. We were reckless, and free, and just... ourselves. It was amazing—I don't think I've ever had that much fun in just a few weeks. We fell for each other, and I considered moving to Paris permanently, starting a life with him. But then... things started going downhill."