I’m jealous. Not of dough. That would be justdumb. She used to relax around me like this—before I threw it away because I didn’t feel needed. And instead of talking about it, I cheated.
I’m a fucking cheater.Like the one person I swore I’d never become. I change lanes a little too sharply, the car jerking.Focus, Nate. It’s just pastries.Gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary, I force my eyes back to the road and away from the seat next to me that should’ve been hers.
“So,” Andrzej says, undeterred, “where should I book for the next two nights? Your mom’s house isn’t big, right?”
“It’d be best. Mom?—”
“Nate, you know Rebecca’s not going to let Andrzej go to a hotel. And if there isn’t enough space, it makes sense I’m the one elsewhere.”
“You’re not going anywhere. You’re already traveling for my mom.”
“So… slumber party?” Andrzej asks.
I think for a second. “Robyn, you’ll take my room. Andrzej, you can have the futon in the office.”
“And you?” Robyn asks, glancing at me.
I shrug. “Couch.”
Andrzej hums, amused. “Great plan. Can’t fucking wait for the evening.”
“You’ll behave.” I glance at him. “This is for my mom, dude.”
“When have I ever not behaved?”
Robyn chuckles, but it fades as she turns toward the window. She knows I hate sleeping on couches and has dragged me to bed so my neck wouldn’t ache in the morning. Once to the bed she’ll be sleeping in tonight.Without me.
Whatever fragile balance I’d hoped to accomplish on this trip, is already out of reach. And we’re not even staring into the debris of our relationship.
Applause crashesinto the silence when my mom steps into the multipurpose room of my old high school, red hair pinned back but streaked with white she doesn’t bother hiding. The outdated lighting, something from the last renovations in the late nineties, brings more attention to it than I know she’d cared for. Mom smiles, sweeping her blue eyes over retired teachers and alumni who look much older than me. She’s taking attendance one last time, breathing it all in—her life’s work.
Then her gaze lands on Robyn and me standing together, and her smile’s the tiniest bit bigger.
“Thank you,” she says, lifting a hand. She’s half laughing, cheeks flushed. “Everyone, please sit. This isn’t a pep rally.”
A path opens through the crowd toward the head table. I give Mom a small nod, planted between Robyn and Andrzej, while she moves toward her reserved seat at the center of the head table with her admin team and a district rep I’d bet money she already hates.
She stops in front of us and pulls Robyn and me into a hug. It’s the closest I’ve been to Robyn since we were together. Mom even pats Andrzej on the head. She isn’t half annoyed that he crashed my trip—he’s a particularly lovable dog.
Teachers I recognize from my childhood sit shoulder to shoulder with alumni who look much older than me, some with their kids squirming in their laps. Folding chairs scrape as people stand. Someone whistles. Someone else shouts her name. Everyone’s waiting for her, and she doesn’t care. That’s my mom. Everything happens on her terms.
“Hey, Nate.”
Tessa’s standing next to Mom now. Blonde hair immaculately straightened and falling on one side. Her gaze demandssomeone’s undivided attention, and once, being that person made me feel important.
Now, I just want to see my mom shine, and I don’t owe Tessa anything.
Her smile tightens when I don’t answer. “I reserved a spot for you at your mom’s table.” She tilts her head toward the front. “I’m sitting there too. We could sit together.”
I shake my head. “Last we spoke, I told you I’d make your life hell. I didn’t meanmylife hell by sitting next to you, Tess.”
She rolls her lips inward, and the skin around them turns slightly paler. “There’s no room elsewhere.” Her voice sharpens, but she softens it quickly. “Yes, things were strained when I had to leave Chicago, but… I really need you. I’d be so bored without you.”
I glance at Andrzej. “You cool taking my seat? Keeping my mom and Tessa company?”
His grin spreads slowly and wickedly. “Oh, I’d be delighted. I hear they’re serving a very dry sauvignon blanc.” He lowers his voice, stage-whispering, “I’ll make sure the conversation flows. No awkward tumbleweeds rolling through.”
The color drains from Tessa’s face.
