My mom raised her eyebrows. I rarely brought up anything having to do with men, not wanting to get their hopes up about me settling down and giving them grandbabies. “Talking? I doubt you’d be bringing it up if it was just talking. Is it serious, April?”
I fiddled with the fork next to my plate. “It’s still . . . early. I like him a lot.”
“It’s hard to have a relationship with someone in his lifestyle.” My stomach clenched at my dad’s words. Was he judging him? When he saw the expression on my face he shook his head. “Just because he doesn’t stay in one place for long. What is that going to mean for you?”
I nodded. “I know. Things are early, so we’re still figuring all that out.”
“Well, honey, you know we only want you to be happy, but you said you wanted advice, so what’s the problem?” My mom sat back and put down her fork, giving me her full attention.
I sighed. Here went nothing. “Well . . . the reason I wanted advice was because Beau has . . . history of mental illness in his family. He grew up in foster care because his mother couldn’t handle his issues after his father committed suicide when he was young.”
Both my parents froze at my admission. “What’s your question, sweetie?” Dad asked.
“Well . . . you . . . you’re familiar with mental illness, right? I mean, as a doctor, you have to know about all these things.”
My dad looked at me for a moment before answering. “Well, yes, April. What kind of mental illness are we talking about?”
I was embarrassed to admit I didn’t know. “Well, I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I know depression is part of it. A huge part of it, if I had to guess.”
“Depression is common,” he said. “So what exactly is your question?”
“Is he . . . can he care about me? Can he be in a relationship?”
“Honey, without knowing much about his history or being around him, I can’t tell you about him accurately. What I can say is people with all kinds of mental illnesses can be successful in relationships as long as they have a good treatment plan and support from everyone who is close to them.”
“Can I make him happy?”
My mom covered one of my hands with hers. “Sweetie, happiness can’t come from you. He has to be happy and content with where he is and where he’s going in life. You can’t fix him. I know you’re a fixer and want to make things right for everyone, but regardless if you and Beau decide to be serious or not, you can’t be his rescuer. Doing that will only pull you down with him.”
Every word she said made sense, but I wanted to be that person for him. I wanted to keep him out of his head and help him see how worthy he was. “How do I support him when he’s not happy?”
My dad blew out a breath. “If you’re going to be in a relationship, he’s going to have to learn to talk to you when he’s not okay. Communication is the key to any relationship, but particularly in one like the two of you. Regardless of what you decide, he belongs to a rock band, and you are a social worker. You don’t live in the same area. So for you to feel like you’re happy, he’ll have to make sure he’s ready to communicate with you. Do you think he is?”
I thought of Beau, our bodies moving together while his eyes drank in every part of me. I thought of his fingers laced with mine anytime he could. I thought of the gentle way he’d kissed me before I left my house. “He does. It’s not always with words. He’s . . . quiet. It’s hard for him.”
“Be careful, honey,” my mom said. “I don’t want to tell you not to be with him because I can see that you’re over the moon. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you like this. But no matter what guy you meet, I’m going to tell you to be sure it’s what you want. Take your time and get to know each other. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Would Beau hurt me? Maybe. I was way more worried about the ways I could hurt him.
Beau’s fingers tapped on his legs as we pulled into the group home. I’d called them earlier and told them to keep Robbie out of school today, that I’d be by to get him. As much as I knew Beau wanted to be here, it made him nervous to be around Robbie.
I cut the engine and sat, my eyes trained on Beau to give me a sign that he was ready. When I’d picked him up after seeing my parents, he’d kissed me for so long I wasn’t sure we were going to make it to see Robbie. He hadn’t wanted to talk, but his eyes had been serious. I hadn’t pushed him, but I was worried. Maybe spending the day with Robbie might be too much for our fragile relationship.