Page 167 of Last First Kiss

Then, Jamie walked away. Just like Jordan’s dad warned him about in that letter. In those nightmares that haunt him whenever he’s alone.

Even now, silently crying on his mom’s shoulder, Jordan knows what comes later: the loneliness. He used to choose it. Being alone was easier than being with people who might turn away from you.

Hurt you.

But maybe it’s worse to never have had those people at all.

“It’s okay,” Cheryl whispers into his ear. “Talk when you’re ready.”

He feels sosmallin her arms. So not like the adult he has made himself into.

But, if he’s being honest, it feels good too. To be held by his mom. Her hand rubbing the back of his head. Coco Mademoiselle in his nose. Her smile imprinted on the back of his eyelids.

“Take your time,” she instructs.

Jordan does.

Tearily, he jumps from topic to topic. From the wedding to Kami suspending him to how he felt growing up. It’s a haphazard string of words with very few breaths in between. He’s not ready to discuss Jamie—doesn’t know how to—but he says just enough for a lump to clog his throat. For Cheryl to keep his face pressed to her shoulder until he rides out the next wave.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, choked.

“It’s not your—”

“This isn’t about blame, Jordan. This is me recognizing my mistakes. What I should’ve talked to you about sooner.” She brushes her hand over his hair. “Let me own that.”

He sighs. “Okay.”

“It’s a good thing this job has great health insurance,” she says with a small chuckle. “Our family therapy bill is gonna be outrageous.”

Jordan laughs into the damp fabric of her dress.

“Did your psychic predict me having a meltdown in the middle of summer?”

“Yourauntie Eva’spsychic,” Cheryl corrects. “And, hell no, Jor-Bear. She didn’t. Just like she didn’t predict last night’s winning lottery numbers. I think she scammed me.”

Jordan’s next laugh turns into a half sob, and his mom squeezes him tighter.

By the time he’s finished, Cheryl’s wiped his face clean. She sits him in the chair usually reserved for clients—or Javi. She perches on the edge of his desk, phone to her ear. It’s too early for her to leave work, so she calls Tevin. Forces him to cancel all his plans to meet Jordan at his apartment.

“I’ll be there later,” she promises Jordan.

“You don’t—”

She clucks her tongue. “I’m your mom, and Ido. We’ll have a sleepover. Like you and Denz used to.”

Jordan wants to remind her that he’s not a child. He’s more than capable of handling this on his own. Hell, he wasbabysitting himself before he turned thirteen. But, fuck, he’s missed her. Missedthem.

He’s missed not being alone.

“Fine. Just this once.”

Later, despite his mom’s protests, he gives her and Tevin his bed to sleep in. There’s no way he’s letting his parents share his sofa. He takes it instead.

They cook together. Well,Jordancooks.

Cheryl orders dessert—raspberry truffle cheesecake—from her favorite restaurant. Tevin tells old stories over wine. They watchSoul Food, a Carter family Thanksgiving tradition, and play a round of Monopoly that doesn’t end in someone (Jordan) throwing the board when he loses.

It’s not quite like sleepovers with Denz. No one almost sets anything on fire. NoMario Kartor pot brownies. There’s no Jamie either. But he’s good with that.