Page 193 of Beautiful Scars

“Mom.” I step forward and take her hands in mine. She flinches a little at the touch, but she doesn’t pull away. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” My voice goes tight, but I push through. “I know I haven’t been the best daughter, and for that, I’m sorry.”

She frowns at me like she’s trying to work out where I’m headed with this speech.

“Truly, I am.” I rub her hand with my thumb, and for a moment I’m stuck on just how thin her skin feels.

So fragile.

She’s aged so much over the years, and I was too self-obsessed to notice.

“But right now I need to figure things out for myself.” I glance behind me but someone closed the office door behind us. I gesture toward it anyway. “I’m going to stay with my friend Sarah for a few days.”

Mom opens her mouth, but I squeeze her hand and she closes it again. “But I’ll meet you here every day so we can spend time with Maddie, okay?”

There’s the tiniest flinch in her eyes, and then her lips purse. But not as if she’s about to tell me off...as if she can’t believe what she’s hearing.

Did she honestly think I’d cut her out of Maddie’s life? Although she went about it in the worst possible way—in my opinion—after what she told me today, I realize it was only with the purest intentions.

And I can’t blame her for the traps she set up for Kill. She is, after all, First Minister, and he is, after all, a criminal. They’re oil and water, and always will be. I can’t picture any scenario where we’ll be sitting down for Christmas dinner and it doesn’t end up in a murder or an arrest.

But there’s got to be a happy medium. Some kind of middle ground.

“Tomorrow then,” Mom says. Then she drops her gaze for a second before looking up again. Although her face doesn’t change one iota, there’s a softness to her voice when she speaks again. “And I’m sorry about Cillian. I know he...meant something to you.”

I quickly let go of her hands, in case I give away something I shouldn’t. A quickening pulse, maybe, or suddenly sweaty hands. She’s not a mind reader, my mother, but she reads people so well you’d be forgiven for assuming she’s psychic.

“Tomorrow,” I tell her in a thick voice.

My heart starts beating a little faster as I turn to leave knowing Kill’s in the car waiting. And as if my mom senses that, she grabs my arm and turns me back. There’s a moment where I’m convinced she’s seen right through everything...and then she grabs me and pulls me into a fierce hug.

She strokes my hair and whispers, “I love you.”

I smile into her shoulder, squeeze her, and murmur, “Love you too, Mom.”

* * *

As soon as Mom spots me, she pauses a little as if surprised to see me. I guess it’s the fact that I’m sitting right in the middle of the crowded restaurant—alone at a four-seater table. I probably stand out like a sore thumb. A few heads turn to watch the First Minister weave through the tables until she reaches mine, and from the way her shoulders stiffen and her lips purse, she’s all too aware of the attention.

I stand as she gets closer and give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

She’s going to need it.

For a moment, she seems flustered, swapping her handbag from one shoulder to the other, glancing around, fussing with her sunglasses. Then a waiter appears and pulls out the chair for her.

“Brunch? What’s the occasion?” she murmurs and then pushes her sunglasses onto the top of her head.

“I thought we could use a little break,” I tell her. “This is okay, right?” I gesture at the restaurant. “You ordered a lot of their fillet steak as take-out, so I thought you’d approve.”

She sniffs audibly and shifts in her seat. “It’ll do,” she says. Then her eyes dart back to me. “When are you coming home?”

It’s been a day. One single day—and not even a full twenty-four hours at that. “Don’t worry, we’re still going to see Maddie after this,” I tell her.

Mom’s shoulders sag, and that makes a weight form in my stomach. I hadn’t really thought about how close she’d grown to Maddie. I guess I could be pissed that my mother’s closer to my own daughter than I am, and not by choice, but that was the old Meisie. The self-absorbed one.

I made a decision yesterday. I know it’s going to be difficult—probably closer to impossible—but I’m determined to see it through.

The waiter takes Mother’s drink order and disappears.

“Why are we sitting here?” she asks and points with her chin to further back in the restaurant. “Let’s move to a two-seater.”