It sounded ridiculous.
It also sounded exactly like Dad.
“He didn’t use that word easily.”
“Where do you fit into this?”
Mom looked at me.
“What?”
“The whole story. Dad told me I’d understand you if I knew it.”
She pushed her chair back.
“Where do you fit into this?”
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“When we were first married, he compared everything to Hawaii.”
“Everything?”
“Rain. Fish. Coffee. Sunsets.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
“That sounds like Dad.”
“It was exhausting.”
The smile disappeared.
“It was exhausting.”
Mom stared at her hands.
“I thought every time he called Hawaii home, he was telling me this wasn’t.”
There it was.
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“What did you do?”
“One night I told him if Hawaii was so perfect, maybe he should’ve stayed there. That’s when he told me about the foster home.”
“What did you do?”
Mom looked toward the blue chair.
“I’d thought I was competing with beaches and palm trees.”
Her voice lowered.
“I found out I was competing with the first place he’d ever been sure dinner would include him.”
“Mom.”
“I apologized,” she said.
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“I’d thought I was competing with beaches and palm trees.”
“Did he forgive you?”
“Immediately.”
“So you stopped him from going back?”
