Page 119 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

“And not being able to have kids feels like the biggest proof of all.”

I swallow.

“It doesn’t prove anything.”

“It kind of does.”

“How?”

“Because even if he never gets tired of everything else, there’s this huge thing he might have to give up if he chooses me.”

My mom studies me for a long moment. Then she says, “You’re making a list of every way loving you might cost Miles something.”

My chest tightens. “I’m being realistic.”

“I think you believe you are.”

“Mom.”

She reaches over and covers one of my hands with hers. “You’ve been doing this for a long time—keeping track of what loving you costs people.”

I go still. “This isn’t about the cancer.”

“I think some of it is.”

I pull my hand away, not because I’m angry. Mostly because I need it to fiddle with the honeycomb pendant at my neck. “Mom, I was fifteen. It was ten years ago.”

“I know exactly how old you were.” Something in her voice makes me look at her. She smiles sadly. “You noticed everything.”

I cock my head.

“You noticed when I missed work. You noticed when your dad canceled plans. You apologized to Dylan when he had to get rides from friends because we were at the hospital with you. You worried about how much everyone was sleeping. You tried to convince me you didn’t need me at appointments because you knew I was tired.”

I don’t say anything.

“You were sick, Reese. None of those things were your fault.”

“I know.”

“I know you know that here.” She taps her temple. “I’m not sure you ever fully learned it anywhere else.”

I look down. Spark presses against my shin again.

Mom continues quietly. “You learned very young that when people love you, sometimes they sacrifice things.”

“Because it’s true.”

“Yes. It is.” She squeezes my hand. “But somewhere along the way, I think you started treating the sacrifice as evidence against yourself.”

My throat tightens, and she gives me a moment before continuing.

“And now you do it with everything. ADHD. Forgetting things. Losing things. Maybe not being able to have biological children. You keep adding up everything Miles might have to give, and you’re leaving out everything he gets.”

I blink quickly. “What does he get? A lifetime supply of misplaced sunglasses?”

She smiles. “You.”

The single word hits harder than it has any right to, and I look away. “That is an extremely mom answer.”