“That tracks,” their mom said.
Tilly snorted despite themself.
“She asked me not to talk about it,” they went on. “So I’m not. I’m doing exactly what she asked. I just… hate how it feels.”
“You usually hate it when you do what someone asks instead of what you want.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s accurate.”
Tilly stared out the windshield at the snow-lined street. “I don’t chase,” they said. “You know that.”
“I do.”
“And I don’t want to be the person who makes things messy or uncomfortable or complicated. Especially at work.”
“Mm.”
“But I also don’t like feeling like I imagined something that very clearly happened.”
“That’s the part you’re stuck on,” their mom said.
“Yeah.”
“Because if you imagined it, you can file it away and move on.”
“And if I didn’t?”
“Then you have to decide whether you’re okay wanting something you might not get.”
Tilly’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t want to want it,” they said flatly. “I was fine before.”
“You were contained,” their mom corrected. “That’s not the same thing.”
Tilly didn’t answer.
“I’m not asking you to blow anything up,” she continued. “I’m just saying you don’t usually lie to yourself this hard unless it matters.”
Tilly swallowed.
“I’m not going to push,” they said. “I’m not going to force a conversation she doesn’t want.”
“I know,” she said. “You never do.”
That wasn’t praise. It wasn’t criticism either. Just a fact.
“I should go,” Tilly said. “I’m already running behind.”
“Okay.” A beat. “Call me later?”
“Yeah,” Tilly said. “I will.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
