Is it too late?

He sighed while parking his new car in the RV lot. He had enjoyed the way the wind slipped around his head and neck while he drove and knew while his family wouldn't approve of his purchase, it made him feel like he was being reintroduced to his mind and body again - he felt alive while driving. He lifted the top over to its stationary space at the car windshield and locked the doors with his key FOB. Hesitating, he turned back to his car and extended his hand toward the door handle before dropping it back to his side. He took a deep and anxious breath before turning back around and walking slowly to his parents' RV, eyes averted. He didn't think he could handle seeing their facial expressions while he ambled up.

It'd been years and he didn't think he could remember what their RV looked like. He heard their dog, Amber Lee, before seeing them, making him stop his pace and look up. Amber was outside on a leash while his dad watched meat cook on his grill, back turned to him. His dad hadn't heard him walking over.

"That precious grill," he thought. "He probably pays more attention to it than me..." he pushed away that self-pitying thought. His therapist said he should move forward, and pity was a past-focused emotion.

His breath caught in his throat, making it hard for him to swallow but he pushed forward against his amygdala's protest. He didn't realize he was a 'freeze' person before now among the 'fight, flight, freeze' options.

Before he could clear his throat and indicate he was interloping, his mother walked down the steps to reach the ground from the RV. It took a moment for her to recognize him. He could tell by the way her eyes squinted then widened. She took an excited step toward him but suddenly her eyes shifted away from him. To cover the emotional switch, she turned to his dad and said, "look who's here."

His dad looked over his shoulder and did a double take when he spotted him. He placed his grill spatula down and stood facing him. Not walking to greet him, just observing his sudden presence. He glanced sideways to his wife, signaling for her to make the first move.

Her expression was hurt, and her shoulders were taut. "Have you eaten?" her voice was hardened molasses. Hardened after the years he ignored and insulted them, but molasses because despite it all, she still loved her son. He knew he hadn't passed 'the test' yet, but she had given him an opening. He would use it.

"I haven't eaten, no," he stood still, like a vampire waiting to be invited in. His dad went back to grilling, knowing this was between mother and son now. She went inside the RV to grab an extra plate and water glass, leaving him standing there and staring at his dad's back and the dog's now sleeping form.

"I guess all that barking wore her out," he said hoping to connect, make his dad turn back around and face him. His dad didn't but he made a hum of acknowledgement. The tension had not eased, but he decided to take a seat at their outside table and keep trying.

"Consistency is key," his therapist had said. "You didn't appear reliable to them, didn't meet their emotional needs, but now you can start. Everything that's made consistent needs to have a first step."

His mother stepped back out. She placed a plate, glass of water, and napkin in front of him. "She's still taking care of me," he thought guiltily.

The meat was grilled and served, and everyone sat and hoped the other couldn't hear them holding their breath.

"How's your girlfriend?" his mother asked stiffly.

"She's not, well, we're not..." he paused. "We're not together. She moved back to her mother's."

His mother sniffed. "I trust all of your things are still together and inside your house?"

He winced, "how did you know about that?"

Both his dad and mother looked at him warily and stated together "your grandma." He nodded, that made sense. His grandma was the first and only person he told after his one of many breakups with his ex. But, within this family, stories and gossip flew to each relative like a hawk diving for its meal. No secrets were kept.

"I visited grandpa's grave today. Before I got here."

His mother nearly slammed her glass of water on the table, shoulders tight and lips thinned in anger. His dad slowed his chewing, glancing between them.

"When's the last time you visited your grandma? She's the one who's actually alive. She sits inside all day every day, worried about you. Show your face, spend time with her," she finished with a huff.

His face burned in shame, especially with how quiet his dad was being. "I live far away and I can't text her to plan that with her eyesight going. I call her." He could hear the whiny protest in his tone, but it was too late to take it back.

"Regression can be common when you visit family," his therapist told him. "Remember to be aware of it and remind yourself that you're an adult and you are autonomous and independent of your family."

With a shaking breath in then out, he spoke again, "I hear what you're saying, mom. I love grandma, and we'll figure out what works best for both of us."

His mom wasn't settled with that response, but she didn't press. "Are you still living in the city? How's your house?"

He should've known she was checking up on him. Buying property was on public record after all. "My mortgage is reasonable, and my dog loves the backyard." He smiles thinking about his curly-fluffed boy rolling in the grass and chasing squirrels.

His mom softens at the mention of his dog. "How's Ralph?" This topic he could speak comfortably about.

"Just got his yearly vaccines and some new booties for the upcoming weather and mud," he said proudly, puffing his chest forward a bit. He was a good caretaker, always had been. At least for vulnerable beings, like his ex. She'd been houseless with her cat, mentally ill and sad. He'd felt an innate push to help her, bring her into his life and protect her. At the cost of his other relationships.

"I want to say sorry," he began. Both his parents stopped eating and looked away, toward the sky. As if to say, 'please god, don't let this conversation happen." The awkward tension rose.

"I'm sorry for the past few years. Not speaking to you wasn't fair. I was so focused on with my girlfriend, my energy for other relationships declined. I couldn't..." he couldn't find the words to make this all better. To make his family love him again.

"No," he thought, "they love me." All the years of his girlfriend telling him lies about what his family 'really thought of him.' He knew his family loved him.

"You deserved better, more from me," he finished, resolute. He wanted to breathe out in relief, but it wouldn't go. He held his breath instead.

His mother looked back at him, seemingly having found empowerment from the beautiful sunset. "I love you. But I don't think I like you."

He startled, raising his eyebrows. "I mean, I understand that. Where does that leave us?"

His dad finally spoke, " I think that means we need time." Always a man of few words.

He wanted to ask how much time, but even he knew the answer wouldn't be clear or known right now. "Can I help clean up?" Everyone had finished eating, despite the distaste left in their mouths after the conversation.

"No," his mom answered, "we don't need help."

He sighed and walked back to his parked car, unlocking it with his key FOB and moving the top back down. He would need the wind going back home. The comfort he hadn't received or expected today was mentally dragging him down. He would try to push away those anxious thoughts and move forward. He really wanted to call his therapist.