Will You Still Love Me?
Bobby Goren doesn't remember now, but as a child he would always ask his mother: "Would you still love me if I broke your favorite vase? What if I tore up your favorite book? What if I painted the walls?" Before the darkness took Frances, she would always smile, ruffle her son's hair, and whisper, "Yes, of course."
Bobby Goren doesn't remember, but he actually tested his mother's love, had tried it, had broken vases, misplaced her books, "borrowed" his father's car at age fifteen to take his girlfriend on a joyride.
Bobby's mother was in an institution by then, but he would always visit her, and somehow she would always find out. He'd never admit it to anyone, but he almost cried because sometimes, when she would not answer his voice, when she turned her head to the wall, he knew that she loved him a little less. Sometimes, though, when she sighed and said, "Bobby, read me a little of my Milton today," he knew he was forgiven, he was loved. His stomach would unclench, he would clear his throat, find his place, and try to coax his mother from the cave.
Bobby Goren grew up, and Detective Robert Goren found someone else to love him. It wasn't the way she kept up with him all the time, and it wasn't when she covered for his foibles that told him. It was that sometimes, he could push her, he could walk out on her, tell her "back off," piss of their bosses—and she would be mad, she sometimes liked him less for it. But she always smiled when he gave her a bag of Skittles, or her morning cup of coffee with so much sugar sometimes it left the sugar bowl half empty.
When his mother died, he lost the little-boy self for good, the someone-will-always-love-me-no-matter-what self. "Will you still love me if I let you fall away forever?" How could she have loved him? Love means never causing anyone this much pain inside.
He turns to her for comfort. She shushes him as he weeps upon her shoulder at the funeral. "Will you still love me if I'm not strong like you are?" His hair is disheveled and she whispers, "Yes, of course."
But in the end, he knew that he didn't know for sure, didn't really know like he knew with his mom. And they've been apart for so long now . . . "Have you ever really loved me, or was it all the job this whole time?" Then a situation came up, his name came back up and he might get his badge back but it's dangerous and he needed her now but the job was calling and he knew he was breaking her rules but he still wasn't sure and he needed to know. "Will you still love me if I break your trust? If I tore up your heart? If I pretend it's not important? Was it always you loving me, or was it just a job? Are you like the mother I needed so long ago, or are you like the mother I got?"
So when the guns don't go off but something went off inside her instead, something precious was broken because he didn't feel like doing anything better, when he said "I was trying to protect you," it was really his someone-will-always-love-me-no-matter-what self he was trying to protect. And she said "I hope it was worth it."
But she doesn't turn her face away forever. She is mad, she is cold, she loves him a little less than before, but (and the sun was slowly rising for his little-boy self) she stayed around, she didn't leave. He dared to hope. He dared to apologize like he meant it. She smiled at him, and the sun shone again for the little-boy self.
And their hearts were bruised but there was still love. And she said things, and he said things, but still, there was love. And then one day their boss died, and it was his fault kind of, but still there was love. And then one day she led him into her office, and she fired him, and when she said, "You know what they want," he knew her someone-will-always-love-me-no-matter-what self was asking, "Will you still love me if I take what you need most?"
And only then, when someone asked him "Will you still love me no matter what?" did he realize how stupid, how irrelevant, how meaningless that question had been the whole time. And he leaned over, kissed her cheek, and whispered, "Yes of course."
