The next couple days were rough. I sent Jetstream the letter on Tuesday, first thing, before I could chicken out. At the team meeting that morning, I got to air my personal life all over again. Most of the 'Bolts acted like I'd hoped, treating the news about Braeburn and the subsequent media silence like regular protocol, and left it at that. Sightseer, Wave Chill, and Fleetfoot came and sat with the captains at lunch, though, and…
Fleetfoot shrugged. "Hey, you're handling this pretty well, Soarin'," she said through her lisp. I counted down from three in my head. Like clockwork, she nudged my ribs and said, "You sure you're not a Changeling? The Soarin' I know would be throwing a fit."
I rolled my eyes, but Sightseer said, "Breaking up is always tough, Fleet. Be nice."
Chill laughed. "Okay, yeah, sure. It's easy to be nice when you get bumped up to main squad, Sightseer." He whapped me with a wing. "So. You're single, and I don't have to worry about being responsible anymore. Does that mean you're finally down to party again?"
I smiled. "Eh, I'd probably just be a downer."
Chill's face wrinkled up. "Hell no. None of this sad crap at a time like this." He wrapped a foreleg around Sightseer and brought him in for a sideways bro-hug. "We need to celebrate my dude's promotion! Hey, Streak, you mind if we have everypony over to the duplex this weekend? Maybe Friday after the show?"
Streak nodded. "Yeah. A few of 'em can crash at my place."
Fleetfoot narrowed her eyes at Spitfire and smirked. "You sure you're okay with that, Spitfire? I figured you and Streak would want some quality time."
Spitfire was unfazed. "Nice try, Fleetfoot, but no. I've still got a lot of practice to do with this whole 'partying like a regular pony' thing." She sipper her water. "It'll be good training."
The rest of the plans fell into place: we'd all head over to Chill and Streak's after the Saturday night show. Chill wanted to do Friday, and I almost came clean about why I needed to be fresh on Saturday morning, but Sightseer told us he'd rather have it on Saturday anyway. It would be easier to get the foals to his parents' place to babysit. Planning it all took the rest of lunch break, and I was grateful for the distraction.
The rest of Tuesday and Wednesday felt like I was in a giant marshmallow. Everything was… fluffier. It wasn't heavy or anything, but it was floaty. Hazy, like I was zoned out all the time. My flying suffered, but not too much. I was mostly coaching that week, anyway, since I would be doing half-time flying until we figured out a more permanent place for Sightseer. He was replacing me in th–
…Huh. It was happening again.
Another pony was replacing me on the team, pushing me out. It didn't feel the same though. I was happy for Sightseer – he deserved it, and every time he nailed a trick during practice, my tail lashed with excitement. He was one of my fliers, and it felt just like it did whenever I scoped out a promising recruit. I didn't even really notice what it would mean for me. Maybe I was too distracted, or maybe I should give myself a little credit for once.
On Thursday evening, another letter was waiting for me. When I opened my mailbox and saw who the hoof-addressed envelope was from, I froze and stared at it. I was stuck there until my neighbor, Dazzling Sundrop, shouted out to me to ask if I was okay. I sucked in a quick breath and looked up. "Hm? Uh, yeah! Thanks." I blinked away the dryness in my eyes. "It's cool. I just zoned out." I quickly tucked the letter under my wing and trotted inside.
The air in my condo felt stale, so I started by wandering around and opening the windows. Then the kitchen looked messy, and as I reached for a rag, I realized what I was doing. Shaking out my mane, I forced myself to sit at the kitchen table, then set the letter down in front of me. I crossed my forelegs and stared at it. It didn't feel real, and the tingling in my face made me realize how hard I was clenching my jaw.
I looked into the parlor. "Whitewing's Big Score" sat back on the shelf. I hadn't needed it for a couple days, but knowing it was there calmed me down. I shrugged and sighed over the pounding of my heart. "Whatever," I grumbled as I picked up the envelope.
But something about the rip of the paper made my mane stand on end. I slammed the half-open envelope down, rattling the table. "How dare she!?" I spat at nopony. I sneered and thought, 'Like it's no big deal! She probably had a response ready to go. It's probably just going to tell me to fuck off.' My wings flared out, and I hunched over, breathing heavily, angry at what a sunny evening it was.
A few birds chirped outside, and the world faded from red to its natural color. I groaned, nickered, and ran a hoof through my mane. "Dammit." The letter looked innocuous again, like it was made of cirrus and would disappear if I blew on it. Carefully, I picked it up, brought it to the parlor, and set it next to me on the couch. I needed something else, so I picked up the photo I kept there, the one of me and Dad at my graduation ceremony. I held it tightly and touched the cool glass, waiting until it felt like Dad was there with me again. "She… Jetstream wrote back, Dad." I shook my head as I looked at the envelope next to me. I set Dad's picture on the table and, as casually as I could, read the letter.
It's good to hear from you again, Soarin',
With another groan, I let the paper fall onto the cushion in front of me and rolled my head back. I closed my eyes, wincing at the slight headache that crept across my temples. My head shook on its own. "No way. Noooooo way. This isn't real." I looked down at it again. "This isn't happening. She's been gone for decades."
I could hear both Dad and Braeburn telling me that it was real, but for once, I didn't want either of them in my head. "Doing this for me," I repeated with a grunt. "This is for me." I picked up the letter and tried again.
It's good to hear from you, Soarin', even if my name isn't Jetscream. Slip of the pen, maybe?
"Shit," I growled.
But thank you for reaching out to me. I accept, but no, I'm buying. I owe you a hell of a lot more than a meal, but now's as good a time as any to start. I've already made both brunch and dinner reservations at Haylo's Kitchen in downtown Cloudsdale. Brunch would be easier for me, but if you're anything like you were as a colt, you'll want to sleep until noon on Saturday morning.
"Dammit," I said, dragging a hoof across my face. "She's good."
I'm looking forward to talking to you again, even if I'm kind of dreading it, too. I'll try to leave some of my baggage at home. Feel free to bring all of yours. Hell, I should probably keep both reservations so we don't feel rushed.
Let me know if that works, and hopefully, I'll see you Saturday.
-Jet
I winced, setting the letter down to the side. The parlor felt huge and drafty and cold. I couldn't bring myself to look at the front door, but I could hear it slamming in my head, over and over. To drown it out, I shook my head, said, "She owes me," and I picked up the photo again. "So I'm gonna do it, Dad. It's happening. I'm going to talk to Jet again."
A chill ran up my spine.
I wrote a quick note accepting brunch – partly because I had to be back for the Saturday night show and partly because I didn't want her to be totally right about me wanting to sleep in – and spent a few hours reading about Whitewing before bed. After sending the note with same-day delivery the next morning, I turned all my attention to Friday's show.
We performed in Cloudsdale that week. The home show was always part of our east coast tour, and traditionally, it was right after the Summer Sun Celebration. It's a way for us to re-center and bring some pride back to our roots after such a high-visibility appearance, and it's important for us all personally.
And I… did really well. I'd worried that I'd be in that same, messed-up headspace, but I tapped into the feeling I'd had in Baltimare, where I'd given it my all so that Braeburn would be proud of me. I still wanted him to be proud of me, and even if my flight wasn't perfect, I knew he would have been. I thought about him as Sightseer took over during the second half – he got massive applause when the announcer gave him the big "first show on main squad" routine – and it brought a smile to my face.
Braeburn had said he'd visit Mac and his parents on the way back to Appleloosa. I didn't know where he was that night, but I knew that wherever it was, he was surrounded by ponies that loved him. And I knew that soon enough, he'd be back home, ready to face Bronze with all their support behind him. And after that, he'd be okay. He could get back to working the orchard, his orchard, and the townsponies would welcome him back. It wouldn't take long for his roots to take hold again, and he'd be back in his element.
Just like I was back in mine. Connecting with Braeburn had brought a new spark to my passion for flying. It felt a lot like it did during my first few weeks as captain, and I carried that spark forward. I nailed the finale that night, just like I did for the… next three…
…Wow.
I only had three more shows after that. Crazy.
But Luna as my witness, I made them count.
After the Friday show, some of the squad wanted to go out and get a drink, but I obviously didn't go with. Sightseer got dragged along even though he'd promised his wife he wouldn't be out too late, but Wave Chill has his ways, and Streak wanted to buy him a drink, too. I quickly told Sightseer and my family about my plans, and they understood, even if Streak was pissed that I hadn't said anything sooner. When I told him I wasn't going, Wave Chill started calling me a wuss, but he shut up as soon as I smirked and mouthed the word "butt stuff."
I flew home slowly that night. After a hot shower that desperately needed another warm stallion, I dried off and flopped onto my bed. I lay there late into the night, splayed out on my back and facing the empty spot where Braeburn was supposed to be. Earlier in the week, I'd stuck a big, fluffy pillow in his spot and put his hat on top of it, just to feel a little less lonely. It helped to have something to reach over and cuddle, and I miiiiight have kissed it goodnight the first few nights after the breakup. And tried to have sex with it. While crying. Look, it was a weird week.
That night, I held it close to my body, spooning it and stroking it gently on its "face." With a sigh, I said, "You did this on purpose, didn't you?" The pillow didn't respond. "You wanted me to be so worried about talking to Jet that I wouldn't keep missing you." I squeezed it closer and took a shuddering breath. I tried to fake some anger, but my voice was soft and heavy and sad. "Well, too bad, Applebutt. I still miss you a ton." I kissed the pillow right where the back of his neck would have been. "But that's sweet of you. I love you, Applebutt."
My chest tightened at the quiet.
So… I grabbed the pillow on each side of the pillow case's opening, then fluffed it a couple times while squeaking out of the side of my mouth. "I love you, too, Big Blue."
Then I snorted, shook my head, and wrinkled my nose, all with my tongue sticking out. "What the fuck, Soarin'? Braeburn doesn't sound anything like that."
I frowned at the pillow, then squeezed its "cheeks" again, making it talk. This time, my impression was a little better and a little bouncier, but still way too squeaky. "Ah think Ah'd be less concerned about accents and more about talkin' to a Celestia-damned pillow."
I smirked at it. "Shut up, or you're not getting any more action."
"A-a-ah'll be good, Soarin'! Oh, I'd hate to risk losin' that sweet, sweet lovin' of yours." I made it dance a little in place. "Mm-mm-mm! Fluff me, Soarin'! Fluff me good and hard!"
"Heh heh. Sounds like somepony wants some…"
I became lucid, then incredibly sad, when I realized what was going on. My hooves dropped to the bed, and all the life drained out of the pillow. The hat rolled off, and I was left staring at nothing but a pile of feathers in a stained sack. And it had a terrible ass. Still, I put the hat back on it, kissed it, and whispered, "I love you, Braeburn, wherever you are. I always will."
"He'll always love you, too."
I smiled, cuddled up to my makeshift Braeburn doll, and fell asleep. That night, I got to dream about holding him one more time.
* * * * *
Soarin' trots alongside me. His foreleg pits look inflamed from where the braces have been rubbing him all day. I imagine there's some powder or something he can use, but he seems like the kind of guy to ignore health advice when it's inconvenient, especially when something important is on his mind.
Regardless, he still bounces along, if somewhat rigidly. His wings hitch up. He sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, eyes forward. "Heh. I still reel a little when I think about that first meeting with her. My stomach's twisting itself in knots again."
"You went, though," I half-ask, pointedly not staring at his legs.
He stops and looks at me. "I had to. I'd promised myself I would."
* * * * *
I wore my black button-up from Las Pegasus, and I messed with my yellow stud until it looked perfect in my ear. Part of me wanted to wear my full Wonderbolt getup for the added authority, but ultimately, I wasn't going as a member of the organization. This was about me.
I arrived at the front lobby of Haylo's Kitchen, just a few minutes late. It honestly might have been intentional, like I was passive-aggressively trying to make her sweat. Or, more likely, it could have been the cramp in my wings, the knot in my stomach, and airy feeling in my head slowing me down. I don't know, but the flight over was one of the longest of my life.
And that's to say nothing of walking into the restaurant. It took two false starts and about a dozen deep breaths before I opened the door, and I only did that because I was afraid she'd be late, too, and would find me panicking outside.
But I finally stepped through the doors and into the lobby. Before I talked to the hostess, I looked out the window at the city streets that were teeming with ponies. My heavy breath fogged up the glass. With one last glance at my reflection and the stud in my ear, I squared my shoulders and set my jaw. "I've got this."
I asked the hostess about a table reserved for Nimbus. My knees locked up as she said, "Your other party member is already here. Right this way, please." She walked into the restaurant.
I didn't. My eyes fluttered, and my stomach felt like it would burst. The hostess looked over her shoulder when she got several paces ahead of me, and I started following just as she turned around to ask what was wrong.
We walked towards the back. Haylo's was a clean establishment, full of ponies in suits and cocktail dresses, all talking softly and fake-laughing in the way that society ponies do. Mimosas and Bloody Mareys sat on nearly every table, and with the large windows overlooking the patio seating, most of the restaurant was lit with natural light. The décor was all white except for the occasional golden or black highlights, and everything smelled like fresh greens, citrus, and tiny portions that cost way, way too much for how pretentious they were. It was exactly the kind of place I would have expected Jet to choose.
As I took it all in, I frantically glanced around the restaurant. My pulse pounded in my skull, and I could hear my breathing even over the din of the crowd. Each passing whiff of food made me nauseous, and I found myself scanning the same faces over and over again, either because I couldn't keep track of where I'd already looked or because I wanted to keep looking where I knew I wouldn't find her.
But as we walked to the back, I saw her sitting at a table next to the window. She was thin without being bony, and her powder-blue, nearly white coat was being washed out by the sunlight. What the sun took from her coat, though, it made up for in her striking, midnight-blue mane and tail, the same color as mine. The only differences were the thin, minty-green streaks and the way her mane flowed softly and naturally, compared to the messy, coarse look that mine always settled into. She wore a white shirt and smart, light green jacket that complimented her mane, along with a necklace made of pearls that were too big to be real. While I approached, she dug around in a massive designer purse, seemingly refusing to look up.
And she was wearing the earrings that Dad had given her at our last Hearth's Warming. I didn't know how to process that, so I pretended to ignore it.
Just like that, the hostess had brought me to the table, but Jetstream still didn't look up. After the hostess slipped away, I stood stiffly there for a second, cleared my throat, and said a weak, "Uh, h–… hey."
Jet looked up. She smiled. Her voice was smooth and mellow and low. "I'm glad you came, Soarin'. I was worried you wouldn't show." She glanced down at her bag. "Plus, now I can stop rooting around in this thing like a fucking lunatic." She casually dropped the bag onto floor with a thud and took a sip of her martini, which looked sickeningly dirty.
I froze there and cocked my head to the side. "…What?"
She waved a hoof in circles in front of her. "Eh, I was just distracting myself. I didn't want to do that awkward, prolonged eye contact thing when you walked in. So, it was either the purse or some crazy-faced maniac wave, like–" Her eyes and her smile went super wide and incredibly plastic, and she flapped her hoof around like a filly with a snake tied to her fetlock. I had the feeling I was supposed to be reacting somehow, but I was stunned. Her face settled into a more relaxed state, and she drained her martini. "I figured one of us would turn tail if we gave ourselves half a chance." She took a deep breath. "And I am not screwing this up again."
My mouth hung open, and I forced out a huffing laugh. "Huh. Yeah, you're… You're probably right." My nose, neck, and scalp all itched.
She sighed, folded her hooves, and spoke more somberly. "I am glad to see you again, Soarin'. Would you like to sit down?"
I hadn't even realized I was still standing. As I sat down, I tried to shake the low buzzing out of my head. "This is weird," I mumbled.
With a pause, Jet sighed. "I know." She looked out the window.
What struck me more than anything was how much larger than her I was. She wasn't tiny, and I'm pretty big by pegasus standards, but she was so much smaller than I remembered. It felt… wrong, like I was just a small colt in a grown-up Soarin' costume.
Neither of us said anything, and I looked down at the table. 'This is stupid.' I felt something pull me towards the exit. My brain felt like it was full of fireworks and tangled fuses, and no position felt comfortable. 'I should go now. I shouldn't be here.'
My eyes flicked up to her, just in time to see her looking at me. We stared at each other for a long moment, until she tightened her jaw and mumbled very quietly, "See, this is what I wanted to avoid."
It felt like the time I'd blown off a spelling test by writing "Soarin' Ruls" for every answer. She'd reacted the same way: putting up a wall and letting the silence dig deep into me, gouging me more than a scolding ever could. I hated it. It made me feel small. 'She's looking down on me again. Nothing's changed.' My throat was tight. I wanted to fly away and hide in my room, just like I had before. 'I should go. I should just–'
My thought was interrupted by a peppy voice. "Dark and Stormy, crushed ice." The waitress set a highball glass filled with brown liquid in front of me.
I started to protest, but Jet interrupted as the waitress served her another martini. "Thanks, dear." She turned to me. "I took the liberty. Couldn't hurt, right? Hope you don't mind."
I frowned and sulked. I felt like I'd been given some juice to help calm down and stop me from whining, and even worse: it was something I would have ordered myself. My mouth opened, but my mind was blank. For lack of anything else, I nudged the glass and mumbled, "I like these." The words felt half-processed and immature.
Jet smiled. "I thought you might. They were Skywise's favorite."
I bristled when she said his name. She hadn't earned it. My face felt hot, and I half-growled, "Dad didn't drink."
She shrugged. "Not after you got into his brandy, he didn't. Do you remember that night, Soarin'? Sky flew you to the hospital himself, and you had to get your stomach pumped."
I put a hoof to my head and felt dizzy. I thought that had happened after she'd already left, and the prospect of losing my memories of Dad made me sick. "Yeah, I… I do."
Jet set her hooves on the table. "You don't have to feel guilty about it, Soarin'. Give it a try."
There was a beat. Cautiously, I sipped the drink. They'd done a good job with it: heavy on the bitters and ginger without being too sweet. I set it down and stared at it. A knot formed in my chest and threatened to push tears out of me, but I had no idea why.
Jet spoke in a soft tone. "I'm ready, Soarin'. You can say whatever you need to."
I didn't.
The waitress came back quickly, but before she could open her mouth, Jet gave her a glare and a viper's smile. "Dear, have you ever been to Prance?" Her words dripped with venom, and the implication was clear – we'd wave her over when we needed something, but until then, she needed to stay the hell away. The waitress politely bowed and left us alone, and Jet turned back to me. She took a breath and said, back in her relaxed tone, "Soarin', I know you want to get some things off your chest, or else you wouldn't have invited me."
I knew what I wanted to say, but it sat like a rock in my chest, and I still had trouble looking at her. My legs kept tensing every time I tried to relax, and all I could say was, "You first." I bit my lip. I still sounded like a little, whiny colt, and I sneered at myself.
"Fair enough," she said. She looked out the window and lazily played with her necklace, squinting at the sunlight. After a moment, she took a sip of her new martini, then squared her shoulders at me and sighed. Her breath smelled like perfume and olives. I met her gaze, and she spoke clearly. "Son…"
She'd chosen that word carefully, and I faltered for a moment.
I looked back at her. She was frowning, and her eyes looked truly sad. I was suspicious she was faking it, but the silent moment gave me time to breathe again and relax.
Jet started again, directly and full of confidence. "Son, I try not to apologize for how I am. I want to live my life without regrets, and whose fucking business is it to tell me what to do?" She gestured with both hooves, suddenly full of energy. "Life's complicated, and nopony in the world fits a mold, no matter how much they tell themselves they should. It sucks at times, but that's how it is." She sighed and deflated, recomposing herself while spinning the glass between her hooves. "I'm… not… sorry I left Skywise, Soarin'. We didn't grow at the same pace or in the same direction. I wasn't ready to settle down the way he wanted, and it wouldn't have gotten better if I'd stayed. But even so…" She leaned in. "I am sorry I left you, too. I'm sorry I hurt you. I should have tried harder to make something work, and I still can't believe I let it happen the way it did. You didn't deserve that, and I was wrong."
…
I wanted… that to be enough. I really did, but instead of magically healing everything, it was like ripping up the floorboards in an old, wooden earth pony house and seeing all the skittering bugs and noxious air and rot that had hidden beneath for over two decades. As soon as she'd apologized, it all rushed to the surface. My face was on fire, and my head was pounding. I said through gritted teeth, "That doesn't make it better."
She looked down. "I know it doesn't, and I should have said so sooner."
My eyebrows furrowed, and I leaned in with raised shoulders. "Then why didn't you?" I snapped.
"I've been meaning to. For a long time," she said, glancing away.
"Fucking why? Because you felt guilty? You wanted to make yourself feel better?" The heat was taking over my body, and I stared daggers at her.
"That's part of it, but–"
My tail thrashed behind me. "'Cuz you obviously didn't care how I felt."
She sat tall and stared back at me. Her voice stayed even, "Soarin', stop it. That's–"
"No! You don't get to suddenly tell me what to do." I thrust my head forward and sneered, and it all burst out of me. "You hurt Dad." I slammed a hoof against my chest. "You hurt me. You just said you don't want anypony to tell you how to live, but you suddenly get to tell me to stop? How the fuck is that fair?"
Jet remained stoic, but I could see her cracking around her eyes.
"It's not, but you don't care. Why would you? You left." I bared my teeth as something black and acrid bubbled up from my stomach. I let it out. I wanted it to hurt her. "You never even loved me, did you?"
Jet gasped and sat back, eyes wide. It gave me a malicious thrill.
"You never fucking cared about me at all, did you?" I kept my voice low, but intense, and it felt like I was barking hard enough to knock her out of her chair. I hoped I would. "You didn't love me. Or Dad. You didn't care about either of us. You just wanted what was best for you! That's why you left. That's why I grew up without a mom."
Jet paused for just a second, still stiff. "That's not true at–"
"It is!" I pointed a hoof at her. "You didn't love us. At all. You didn't want us. You didn't–" I sucked in a breath through my teeth. My eyes watered, and my jaw quivered, and just as quickly as my anger had erupted, it started giving out. Out of nowhere, I was on the verge of collapse. I shook my head, my voice shaky. "You n-never wanted me, did you? I just made you miserable. I wrecked everything for you and Dad. Why would you want me?"
Jet leaned forward just slightly. "Soarin', that's not true, and I never wanted you to feel that way."
I fought back tears and spat, "Well I did. I still do. You never wanted anything to do with me, so you left." My hoof was shaking, and I could hear the ice clink against the glass in my drink.
Jet wiped at her face and swallowed hard. "You're wrong. It's not like that at all." She did her best to meet my gaze. "Soarin', do you think you're ready for foals?"
"Are you fucking kidding?" I put my hooves to my temples, my anger surging back through me like a lightning storm. "Do you even see me? I'm a fucking wreck! I'm yelling at a stranger in a public restaurant, and I don't even fucking care if it gets me fired." I continued shaking, but my rage melted partway back into sorrow. "I can barely keep myself together." My voice broke again. "I can't even fall in love with a pony the right away, and I probably never will." I threw my head around, mocking her with flailing forelegs and wings. "That ship has sailed – leaving port, buh-bye, sorry you missed it – so no, Jet, I'm not ready to have foals." I sneered and looked straight at her.
She took a deep breath. "Okay, how about five years ago?"
I nickered and growled. "No," I said flatly, bracing myself for what she was about to say. "I see what you're getting at, but–"
"Do you?" I tried to snap at her, but she cut me off. "Soarin', I was much younger than you are now when I got pregnant. I wasn't ready for foals, and neither was Sky, and we both knew it." She rapped a hoof on the table and leaned in. "But I want to make it perfectly fucking clear, Soarin': we w–" Her voice cracked, but she recovered quickly. "We were both ecstatic to find out you were coming." She stifled a sob, and a piece of my heart broke, a part that I'd always pretended I didn't have. "We were excited, and terrified, and we couldn't wait to meet you. Both of us. Both. Of. Us. We loved each other, and we've both loved you since before you were even a bump on my stomach. Fuck, we'd picked out names within a week: Soarin' for a colt, Selena for a filly, and guess what? We both hoped it would be Soarin'."
My jaw quivered again. Our faces were close enough to feel each other's breath, and both of them were twisted in rage and sadness. Even so, my heart warmed at hearing how they'd named me. I couldn't remember if Dad had told me that story before. He probably had, but instead of being excited to get that little piece of him back, I grew sadder about missing him. Jet had so much of my Dad to herself, and as far as I was concerned, she didn't deserve it. "I miss my dad, Jet," I pleaded through angry tears. "I want him back. Him. Not you. And it's not fair."
She sat up again and took a breath. "No, it's not."
I leaned back in my chair, too. "He would have been fine if you hadn't left."
Jet gave me a flat look. "Soarin', that's ridiculous."
"Is it?" I snapped, glaring. "He had to raise me by himself, and I was a freaking terror, and–"
Jet shot me a withering look. "Don't talk about my son that way."
"You're not my mom!" I slammed the table hard enough to rattle the silverware and hurt my fetlock. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the ponies at the next table look over, but I didn't care. "You left! You didn't want anything to do with us! I must have been awful, because you didn't want me." I wanted to go to my room, slam the door, and listen to angry music, just to spite her.
Jet pursed her lips. "That's not true, Soarin'. I didn't want to be with Sky, but I did want you. I just didn't fight hard enough."
"The fuck does that mean?" I blushed when I realized I'd used so many curse words in front of my mother. "Sorry," I mumbled half-heartedly.
She slowly took another sip of her martini and set it down. She stiffened her lip. "Just what I said. If I'd had my way, I would have had you every other weekend. I… would have picked you up from school on Friday and dropped you off there on Monday."
It felt like there was a hydra behind me, just out of sight and breathing down my neck. The weight of what she was saying started to press down on me. "What do you mean?"
She spoke calmly, her hooves folded on the table. "Those were my terms for the divorce, Soarin'. There was a custody battle, a tough one, and I lost."
I shook my head. I tried to think about her fighting to be with me. It was like there was this wall in my brain that kept me from picturing it, like it was just out of sight, but something about it made a twisted kind of sense. Looking away, I mumbled, "I… don't remember that." Without realizing it, I held my breath.
"Good. We both agreed that we didn't want to put you through it. We knew it would be messy, and getting you involved would have only hurt you" Her eyebrows raised. "And we were right, Soarin'. It got vicious. Sky didn't want me to have anything to do with you. He knew how much my leaving that night had hurt you, and he couldn't forgive me for it. I… tell myself that it came down to him having a better lawyer and his bullshit story about me being negligent, but…" She looked down and shook her head. "I could have fought harder. I should have fought harder."
I swallowed hard and hung onto my breath for another moment. Her words were etching themselves onto my brain, but they conflicted with everything else that was already there. I felt light-headed.
Her voice became gravely, and her disgust in herself was tangible. It was real. "But I didn't. I was a greedy, and intimidated, and I was tired of fighting, and… I messed up." She looked up at me with large, drooping eyes, and inside them, I couldn't find anything but sincerity. "And you paid for it. It wasn't fair, but I did it to you anyway."
My eyes were watering. "You wanted…" I could feel parts of my brain buckle. She wasn't making sense, or at least, what she was saying didn't mesh with everything I thought I knew about her. Her body language, her tone, the feeling deep inside me – it all told me she was telling the truth, but the Jet I knew couldn't have meant it. "N–… No. No, that–"
I growled at myself, angry for showing signs of weakness. I caught myself, though, and thought, 'The fuck am I doing? Did I just come at here to yell at her? Because it isn't helping.' I closed my eyes and felt the sun on my face. 'Don't make it about her. I'm doing this for me.'
I turned back to her, a calm edge to my voice. "I don't know if I can believe you."
She frowned at me. "That's… disappointing. I mean, you don't have to believe me, Soarin', but it's true. Skywise was… partly right, though." She sunk in place. "I don't mean to be cruel, but even though I wanted to see you and be around you, I didn't want to raise you, if that makes sense. I wasn't ready. I'm sorry."
She was apologizing again, and it hit me hard. I couldn't breathe. The world was spinning, and nothing fit together. I flicked my ear a few times just to feel the weight of my Braeburn stud. "I don't get it."
Jet drew in a long breath. "I don't, either, Soarin'." She looked away. "I should have done more. I knew it at the time, too, but I was greedy. And young and stupid. I wasn't ready for my young adult life to end. After the ruling, I thought I could make it work and… meet you again after a few years or something, but I wasn't able to give up my lifestyle. Or my career, for that matter." She looked back at me. "Would you have been?"
I thought back to that time of my life. At that age, I would have just started climbing the ranks, and I never would have become a captain if I'd had a family to take care of. Hell, I would've been lucky to get to where Sightseer is now – there's a reason that most of the main squad is young and unattached. I felt a dark pit in my stomach. "No, I wouldn't have been ready."
"It doesn't make it right, of course." She tilted her head back and drained her martini. "But that's how it is." Before setting the glass down, she made eye contact with the waitress and twisted it in the air, signaling that she wanted another.
I put a hoof on my temple and leaned on the table, eyes shut. My whole body ached, especially my head, and my heart pounded in my chest. I had to fight the urge to wrap myself up in my wings and hide. I thought, 'I don't get it. I don't get it. Dad wouldn't do that to me. He loved her. She's lying.' As I had that thought, though, my stomach felt cold and heavy, and I looked up. Jet was tilting her glass back again, getting the last few drops, and I felt something familiar wash over me. It was the same feeling I'd had as a colt the night she'd left: the cold void of missing her. 'Please be telling the truth.'
Jet placed the glass back down and looked at me expectantly. As we made eye contact, I realized how exhausted I was, and recoiled from everything that was going on in my head. Part of me wanted to keep pressing her, but the rest was desperate for a change of topic. I needed a break, and my walls came back up as instinct kicked in. I nodded at her glass and said, in a flat voice, "Jet, it's not even noon."
She just shrugged. "A lady can hold her liquor at any time of day."
"Whatever," I mumbled, turning to the window.
A beat passed, then she chuckled. "Don't be so judge-y. I've seen the tabloids. Some of me clearly rubbed off on you."
"Just the bad parts," I said, quiet enough that I thought she wouldn't hear.
"Or maybe just the fun parts."
I snorted some air through my nostrils and looked back at her, but then I saw her giving me a sly smirk. It wasn't just any look, though. It was a look that only one other pony had perfected, a look I'd only ever seen in a mirror. Her head was cocked back in a way that projected a teasing confidence, daring me to take her on. And it was working. I stared, completely stunned, as a familiar tingling took over my gut, prodding at me. "Whaaaaaat," she said with a chillingly familiar lilt.
And I… couldn't even.
"You thought you got your liver from Skywise?" She flicked her eyes down at the drink in front of me. "C'moooon, show me what you got. Chug." She softly chanted, "Chug! Chug! Chug!"
A little electric thrill shot up my spine. My mother was accusing me of being a lightweight, and she was right. The competitive itch took over from the pit of my stomach, holding back all the discomfort of where I was and what was happening, and I remember smirking and thinking, 'Oh, she's going down.'
And I… went with it. I opened my throat and downed my drink to the soft drumroll of Jet's hooves on the table, and as I did, I felt myself fill with the cold liquid, the burning of the alcohol, and the camaraderie you only feel as you get blitzed with somepony. She gave me a mini-applause as I finished, and she didn't let me set my glass down until I'd motioned to the waitress and ordered another, just like she had.
It felt good, in a way, to put the mask back on, to pretend like we were buddies and that everything was fine, but the unsettling feeling that underscored everything never totally went away. Or maybe it did, just a little. I don't know. I… don't know.
Jet snickered to herself. "Thatta colt. Impressive throat work, too. Did you practice on–?"
I shuddered. "Mom, EW!" I hadn't even realized what I'd said, and I certainly didn't notice when we started laughing together.
She teased me about being a playcolt, and I teased her back about never getting any. We kept laughing and swapped a couple drinking stories until our next rounds came. We went through those pretty quickly, too, and I was about to tell her about all my fun times with Fire Streak, but she cut me off, a sudden heaviness in her voice. "Don't… let me off the hook that easily, Soarin'."
I cocked an eyebrow. "Huh?"
She spun the martini glass between her hooves. "This is fun, but… it's not why we're here."
"Oh." My smile faltered. "Well, yeah, but…" Dread crept up my throat, and I tried to shove it back down. "This is fun, and I-I-I don't really want to talk about the other stuff."
"Neither do I, but a couple decades of keeping quiet hasn't done either of us any good." She looked out the window. "I ran away and hid back then, Soarin'. I don't want to make the same mistake now."
I sighed. "Yeah. Neither do I," I said solemnly.
She turned to me, waited for both of us to breathe, and said, "Well, I bet the silence bothers you as much as it does me. What else would you like to know?"
There's an image that's burned into my mind forever. You know by now what I'm talking about. "Do you remember the night you left?"
Jet nodded. "I think about it every single day, Soarin'." She shook her head slowly. "I wish so much that you would have stayed in bed that night. I'm sorry you had to see me go."
She knew. Those fucking stairs. "It haunts me, Jet."
Jet's wing hitched up.
Before she could apologize, I asked, "What were you fighting about?"
She hesitated and softly mumbled, "It's been so long, I don't even re–"
"Bullshit," I said flatly. "I'm not letting you off the hook."
"Right. You're right." She collected herself and sat up. "It was the same as usual: Sky wanted me to plan a family outing for the three of us, but I didn't know what to do, and he accused me of not trying hard enough. I told him I would figure something out before the weekend, but he didn't like that. It didn't fit with his plan, and he said that if I didn't want to spend more time as a family, then we had to seriously consider the arrangement."
I bristled again. My response was automatic. "No. Dad wouldn't just do that. He loved you. He loved us. He wouldn't let the family break up like that. He cared."
Jet's eyes softened. "Soarin', he cared about you. You were his world. He would have done anything to protect and nurture you, up to and including keeping me away. He thought I was being a bad influence and a bad mother, and he wouldn't just stand by and let me do something that had even the slightest chance of hurting you. He cared too much about you for that."
The back of my mind roared with, 'Who the fuck is she to talk bad about Dad like that?' I quieted it, though, because at least she wasn't talking down to me. I still felt like an ignorant young buck who thought he knew everything, but at least we were having a two-way conversation.
Jet continued. "And in a way, I respect him for that. He wasn't totally wrong, either. I wasn't a great mother, and I know now that we should have spent a lot more time as a family. I didn't realize what I was missing at the time. He did. But he…" She shook her head.
"He what?" Something about her tone made my blood run cold.
Jet sighed. "He had to have things–"
…
…
…Sorry. I'm okay.
She said, "He had to have things his way. He was honestly pretty controlling, Soarin'."
My jaw went slack, and I heard a thunderclap in my brain. "He… what?"
The wind had been sucked out of me. I tried not to think about what that meant. I tried not to think about Dad at all, but then my thoughts just cycled to me and Braeburn. I was left with all the times I'd kept him at home or forced him on the road or tried to run our relationship on my terms. 'Controlling.'
Jet swallowed a lump in her throat. "Yes. I think he had an idea about what a family should look li–"
"He–" I nearly vomited. Braeburn. Dad. Me. Over and over and over again. Reading Braeburn's letters. Telling him we wouldn't be traveling to Appleloosa. Keeping him locked up in the condo. "He was controlling. Of your relationship."
Jet gave me a sideways look. "…Yes. He knew what he wanted, and mostly they were good things, but sometimes it blinded him to what was really going on, to the family he actually had and the pony he was with." I stifled a sob, but she kept going. "He just… looked past what I needed sometimes, and the more things went wrong, the more controlling he would get."
I shuddered and buried my face in my hooves. I shook with anger at myself. I missed Braeburn. I saw the connection, the side of Dad that I'd never seen before, or something that I'd always refused to acknowledge, and it shook me to my core. Thinking about Dad being anything less than loving and caring and perfect cast a shadow of doubt over every memory I had of him, and it left me feeling stranded.
But… it all made sense, right? Who had raised me? Who had taught me how to forge a family life? I didn't want to believe her, but the more I thought, the more I remembered, and the more it made sense. All the terrible things I'd done to Braeburn flashed across my mind, and I fought, unsuccessfully, against another wave of tears.
It all fell into place, and it was horrifying. "Dammit, Dad."
Jet paused for a moment and said in short, clipped words, "This is upsetting you. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be talking about–"
I waved a hoof erratically. "It's– It's fine," I choked. "Just gimme a minute."
"Take your time, son." I did, barely holding myself together for a full minute. Jet, after a long silence, whispered, "I'll be right back." I kept myself from breaking down entirely, and she returned with four Dark and Stormys.
I didn't hesitate. I pounded the first one, just to give my face something to do besides sob. I shook out my mane and wiped off my tears on my fetlock, then gave up a small burp.
Jet gave me a few more seconds, then asked, "So… that touched a nerve. The hell happened?"
I wiped my face and sighed quickly, one hoof still on my empty glass. "I've been dating a stallion named Braeburn for the past few months."
Jet's voice went a little stiff. I think she was caught off guard by the sudden topic change. "So I've read. How are you two doing?"
It never got easier. "We broke up last weekend."
She blew some air from her lips. "I'm sorry. What happened?"
I collapsed into myself. "I… couldn't let him go. I'm… Dad, I…" I shook my head and inhaled, feeling the air fill my lungs to capacity and letting it all go quickly. "I begged Braeburn to live with me, and I more or less forced him to stay." I shrugged. "I'm really Skywise's son, I guess. I… couldn't see what he needed. That relationship was everything I've ever wanted, and I completely fucked it up, and it's..." My head kept shaking. I wanted to curl up and sleep. "And it's not your fault."
Jet's shoulders slumped. She frowned and reached across the table to put her hoof on mine. "It's not Skywise's, either. I'm sure he was a wonderful father."
I looked at her hoof. It was well-manicured, but there were a couple signs of aging. Some brittleness. A few veins were prominent. It looked… like a pony's hoof. I looked into her eyes and saw the same thing. As much as she wanted to keep up appearances, I could see wrinkles, and she had bags under her eyes, just like me. She wasn't a monster. She wasn't just a mare that had left me. She had her own demons. She was just a pony.
"Mom…" My voice was breathy and choked. A few tears rolled down my cheeks. "I'm sorry."
Mom spoke softly. "Son, you don't have to be."
"I am. I've been…" I shook. "…angry at you for so long. I thought it was…" I had so much trouble speaking, and I had to use a few mental calming exercises that Doctor Soul had taught me before I could say anything else. "…all your fault. Everything. This whole time. I thought I'd never be able to love anypony, and I thought it was all your–"
I thought of Dad, how his face had grown wrinkles before he'd died. How he'd started getting wing stiffness and how he'd lose his temper over stupid things. Never at me, but at the slightest things. 'Why didn't I ever realize how angry he could get?' He'd been a pony, too. He'd tried his best, but he was imperfect. Just like Mom. Just like me.
It felt like meeting him again for the first time, and my heart ripped into pieces when I realized how far away from me he was.
Jet spoke gently. "It wasn't anypony's fault, Soarin'. This is part of growing up and learning to love, I think. Did you and Braeburn leave on good terms, at least?"
I sniffled and nodded. The sun felt warm on my face. "We did. I… finally realized what he needed, so I let him go."
"Then Sky did a damn fine job raising you." With the hoof that wasn't holding mine, she lifted one of the remaining drinks. "To Skywise."
I picked up the other full glass. "To Dad." We clinked our glasses together and drank, and when we were done, I fixated on the pony in front of me.
I didn't recognize her. In some ways, she looked exactly how I remembered, but she still looked completely different somehow. I still don't totally understand what it was.
"Mom?"
She looked at me with weary eyes. "Yes, Soarin'?"
My lip quivered. "I don't want to be angry at you." My head shook. "I can't do it anymore. I don't want to. But I don't know what to do."
She nodded. "I think we could both stand to forgive ourselves a little more." She stood up, walked around the table, and gave me a big hug, wings and all. For a moment, she felt bigger than me again, and that felt right.
I mumbled into her shoulder. "I miss Dad."
"I do, too."
After we settled down, we finally ordered brunch from the very patient waitress. I got the huckleberry pancakes, but I don't think Mom noticed. It took time to get the conversation going again, but when it did, I asked her to tell me her story, and she told me everything.
After the fight with Skywise, Jet crashed at her friend's apartment for a few weeks. The custody battle started immediately, and Jet thought that not having her own place weighed heavily against her during the proceedings. She talked around the battle itself, I think to spare my feelings, but I got the impression that Dad had been pretty relentless. Mom kept reassuring me that he'd done so out of love, but it was still deeply unsettling.
She lost that fight, and she lost it hard. Dad got full custody, which was unusual for the time, since he was the stallion. Mom's lawyer advised her to accept it to keep Dad from seeking a restraining order. Mom cried for days after that, and she spent a bunch of her savings on other legal counsel trying to figure out something she could do, but it all turned up with nothing. She told herself that someday, she'd figure something out with me, but every time she thought about trying, she had flashbacks to Dad yelling at her and the judge ruling completely against her. Worse than that, she kept imagining me not forgiving her. It paralyzed her, and she said it reduced her to tears whenever she made an effort. In the end, it was so much easier in the moment to tell herself that the time wasn't right. But the time was never right, and it never would be.
She moved to Manehattan with some friends and kept partying. For years, she refused to date anypony, and she preferred having stallion toys for casual sex rather than trying to form any long-term relationships. Over time, though, the parties lost their luster, and her dissatisfaction grew and grew until it affected her work, her friendships, and every other aspect of her life. It all felt eerily familiar.
Jet met Spectral Nimbus at her new job in Manehattan about eleven years ago. They hit it off immediately, and for only the second time since leaving us, she broke her no-dating rule. She said that she felt something with Spectral that she'd never felt with anypony else, something that just clicked. For their six-month anniversary, Nimbus surprised her with tickets to the Wonderbolts show. By then, she knew about me, of course. "Turning the corner and seeing the marquee on the stadium was the most awkward moment of my life."
Mom and I figured out which show it was. Based on the timing and what she said about where I was flying, I would have still been on the secondary squad, doing transitions as a young up-and-comer. She remembered tons of details from the performance – even more than I did – and she said she was incredibly proud of me. Nimbus had gotten good seats, too, and Jet saw Dad sitting in the VIP section. "I was scared he'd see me, of course, but there was never any risk of that. The look on his face whenever you did anything was pure joy. You were still his entire world, Soarin', and having you for a son made him the happiest pony that's ever lived." It was the last time she ever saw him.
Spectral had been wondering all night about what was up with her, of course, and over dessert, she told him the disjointed story of her past. "He's a dream, Soarin', and I still can't believe he wanted to date me after that." It was the first time she'd shared that many details with somepony, and she thinks it was her first big step towards moving on. "That's how it is, though: I don't face my problems on my own. I wait for them to find me."
They got married less than a year later, and… right after that, she was pregnant. And she had been ready that time, too, so much so that they got pregnant with their second shortly after their first was born.
Twister and Cyclone Nimbus. I have two half-siblings. And that… feels amazing. And it hurts. Both of them want to be Wonderbolts, and neither of them knows their older half-brother is a captain. And the weirdest part? I've met them both multiple times. Spectral brought them to a meet-and-greet event for young fans last year, and we've done mini-shows and photos for their school district as part of our outreach efforts. Twister says her signed, framed picture of me and Spitfire is her prized possession. But they still don't know. "I didn't want to put any of us through that, especially you. I had no idea how you'd react."
And then, she was done.
I set my napkin down on my plate. It showed all kinds of creases where I'd been mindlessly twisting it in my hooves. "That's… generous of you. Most civilians who know us try to squeeze us for merch or tickets or something."
Mom set her napkin down, then stared at me for a bit. "You're expecting me to sort-of-jokingly ask for some free tickets right about now, aren't you?" She smiled.
I shrugged. "I mean, I don't think I got my sense of humor from Dad, either."
"Heh, thank Luna, right?" she chuckled. "But no, I wouldn't do that to you. And honestly, I don't know if I'm ready for them to know, either. If they ever do, I want to make sure you and I are on good terms first."
I paused. 'Are we on good terms now? This feels… sudden. Does she even want to keep going? She's moved on and, fuck, has a family now. She has a life. Ugh… I wish I could talk to Dad about this.' It was strange. It felt like I was back at Dad's place – our old place – for our weekly dinners, but it all felt lesser, somehow.
Mom read me like a book. "You'd rather be talking to Skywise right now, wouldn't you?"
I looked up. "Yeah. No offense."
"None taken. Speaking of that, though…"
I shrugged. "I feel like we've been talking about him all day."
"Yes, but I mean specifically talking with him." She reached into the giant purse and pulled out a thick, brown folder that had been neatly tied up. "I owe you a backlog of birthday presents. These should be a good start." She carefully untied the folder, then reached in and flipped through several items inside. "This'll be a good one. Careful not to get syrup on it." She held out an envelope.
"What's that?" I dipped my hooves in a water glass, dried them off, and then took it from her. It was a letter addressed to Jet. The return address was from Dad at our old house. "He… wrote you a letter?"
"Several," she replied. "It took some prodding, but a few months after I gave up custody, I asked him to at least let me know how you two were doing from time to time. He was suspicious and protective of you, of course, but if nothing else, Skywise understood family bonds." She winced. "It didn't hurt that, in his mind, I was basically admitting he'd been right. He loved writing about you, and I've read every letter dozens of times. That's one of my favorites, too. It has a picture in it."
Delicately, I opened the letter. There were three pages, slightly yellowed, and when I unfolded it, I recognized the picture immediately. It was the same one that I keep in my parlor: Dad with his foreleg wrapped around me, wearing that goofy smile, bursting with pride on the day of my graduation from the Wonderbolt Academy. I quickly skimmed the first lines of the letter, before the tears could get me.
Jet,
Stormcloud did it! He's an official Wonderbolt, and I don't think I could ever be more proud. I wish you could have been there with us.
My eyes furrowed, and I smiled. "You two made up?"
Mom shook her head. "No. Not exactly. Skywise and I never really made up, but we always had you in common, and Sky loved gushing about you. We'd both accepted where our lives were going, and I guess we realized we could stay cordial as long as we kept our distance."
I started to read the letter again, but then I gave up when my eyes watered. "I'm– I'm not going to get through this right now."
"It's okay. You spent more time with Skywise than I did. You deserve to have these."
I carefully folded the picture and the letter back up. She passed me the heavy folder, but as I packed it up, I felt the tears welling up inside me. "Why didn't he ever tell me? That you two were talking?"
She sighed. "We weren't. It was pretty one-way, with only a few exceptions. He didn't even want me sending you presents."
I sniffled. "Dad's not that–" I stopped myself.
But Mom finished the thought for me. "Controlling?"
I blushed. "Right."
"Soarin', I truly, truly believe he was doing what he thought was right. He wanted to protect you, and I'd hurt you deeply. He didn't trust me not to do it all again." She deflated. "And honestly? I can't blame him."
I was sobbing again and barely containing it. "Then why didn't you come to the funeral? Mom, I reached out to you. You said you were sorry for my loss, but… if you still cared, why didn't you come?"
Jet frowned, stared right into my soul, and said with perfect clarity, "Because I'm a coward, Soarin'."
The pure, raw sincerity in her voice shook me. "No. No way it's that simple."
She shrugged. "I'm afraid it is. I should have come to the funeral." Her voice cracked. "I… should have fought harder for custody. I should have checked in sooner or written to Skywise and begged him to let me come back. Should, should, should." A tear rolled down her cheek, but her voice was still even. "I told you I don't like to live with regrets, Soarin', but I have one from every day that I didn't try to make things better. And when Skywise passed, I was shocked, I was– I thought, 'That was it. I missed my chance. The family's broken.' And you didn't respond to my card, so… I thought you'd never want to hear from me again." She shook her head and dried her face on her sleeve. "I'm a fucking coward, Soarin'. I wouldn't even have tried again unless you reached out first." She reached across the table. "I'm so… relieved that you did, son. I'm so happy to see you again."
I didn't know if I was happy. I didn't know what I was.
She sighed and held my hoof again. "Soarin', I don't know if we can fix whatever the fuck we have left. I don't know if you even want to."
"I don't know, either," I whispered.
"I know… I don't deserve this, but I have to ask while I'm here." I knew what it was, and the air grew colder as our eyes met. "Can you ever forgive me, Soarin'?"
I stopped. I looked in her eyes and saw the pony in front of me. I'd heard her story, and I understood her and Dad in a way I never had before. I had connected with her after two decades, and here she was asking for forgiveness. I searched deep inside myself in that long moment, and I found my answer. "Not yet."
She went pale, and her face looked just like mine had in the days after Dad had died. "I… understand, Soarin'." She tried to pull her hoof away.
But I stopped her. "I said not yet." We were both shaking, and I spoke quickly. "I… want to, Mom. I hope I can forgive you and move on and be happy, but it's too much, and I don't know if I can trust you, and all the things with Dad? I didn't realize he… He was…" My head shook. "So I just can't. Not now. What happened between you and Dad fucked me up big time. I'm still getting over Braeburn, and–"
"You'll never get over him completely."
"I know," I sighed. "But… I need more time. Today was great, Mom." I looked her in the eyes. "And as fucked up as it's been, I mean that. The talking, the drinks, the letters, it's… It's more than I ever thought I'd get, but…" I frowned. "I'm still not ready yet." I finally let her hoof go, and we looked at each other across the table.
She struggled to find words, and she pursed her lips. "Is this going to be our last goodbye, then?"
Pain welled up in my heart, and a tear streaked down my face. "No! Please no. Please don't leave me again."
Her eyes darkened. But then she looked right at me. "I won't, son."
And I believed her.
She drank the rest of her Dark and Stormy, and we agreed to leave the last one untouched. She said, "So what would you like to do?"
I looked down at the folder, and I imagined going through those letters. I knew when I'd need them most. "Dad's… deathday. In a few months. It's always rough on me." I looked up with pleading eyes. "Maybe we could get together and swap stories?"
She smiled. "I'd like that."
"Thanks. You, uh…" I thought back to the letters. "You want that picture back? I've already got one, a-and…"
Mom nodded when I couldn't find the words. "I'd love it." She smiled warmly. "I keep the frame in my dresser, you know, where the foals won't find it but where I can see it every day."
"Heh. Then yeah, you should have it." I reached down to grab it, then passed it to her.
"Thank you." We stood up, I met her alongside the table, and we hugged tightly. It still felt weird, being so much bigger than her, but regardless, the hug was comforting. Without letting go, she said, "And if you need me sooner than that, please ask. I'll try to be brave and reach out, too. You're still my son, Soarin'. I still love you."
…
There's a piece of me that I've hated for most of my life. It's a little sliver of my heart that tormented me and made my memories of Mom and Dad and all of us so much more painful. I hated that sliver, and I'd spent my entire adult life trying to drown it out with sex and booze and fame and every thrill I could think of. I'd fought it for years. Even if Braeburn had nearly filled my heart, there was always one piece that I could never replace with him, something he could never repair. I'd hated that sliver. I'd tried to ignore it. I'd tried to kill it. I'd done everything in my power to get rid of it, but after talking with Jetstream that day, I understood why it had been hurting me all those years – why it was still important – and I was finally able to acknowledge it through an uneven, crying breath: "I still love you, too, Mom."