Page 104 of Before We Break

I close my eyes and sigh. “Lexi⁠—”

“I know what you’re going to say, but just… trust me, ok?”

I touch my palm to her face. “I do trust you, Lex. That’s not the problem.” I stare at the face that looks so much like me when I was her age. But she’s not me, and I can’t fault her for things I did back then. “Just be careful, sweetheart. I trust you, but I need you to trust your heart, too. If something feels wrong, that’s probably because it is.”

“I know. I like him a lot, Mom.”

“I know. I like him, too.” I offer her a gentle smile and let the mother/daughter part of our relationship take the back seat. “So. You finally had your first kiss. How was it?”

She nibbles on her bottom lip, blushing furiously. “Perfect.”

A quiet laugh squeaks out of me, but before I can say anything else, Hayden returns.

“My mom wants to meet you,” he says.

Lexi smiles up at him and nods.

I steal her for one last hug. “I’ll see you at home.”

Noah and Auggie return just in time to say their goodbyes, and we watch Lexi walk away, hand in hand with Hayden—the boy most likely to be the first to break my baby’s heart.

“Fuck,” Noah mutters under his breath. “He’s Karen Parker’s kid?”

I follow his line of sight to the familiar blonde in a navy blue pantsuit who’s talking to Lexi and Hayden. Recognition dawns and I gasp. “Whimsy woman from WVBA.”

He glares down at me. “You were no help.”

I shrug. “She had a point. You needed a little whimsy in your life.”

“Yeah, well. I found it.” He threads his fingers through mine. “Come on, princess. Let’s go home.”

TWENTY-NINE

WIELDER OF WHIMSY

♫ Never Really Mine - The Lumineers

CLIO

Noah: Did you take your meds today?

Me: You don’t have to remind me every day, you know. I’m a big girl.

Noah: …did you?

Me: I’m taking them now.

Fall fades into winter, and soon we’re heading into the Christmas break. Noah no longer resists our outings and fake dates, and that makes the situation more precarious—at least from my vantage point.

He wears a mask of indifference I can’t penetrate while my inner turmoil tries its level best to humble me. I’m trapped in a dizzying free fall, and I know it will be disastrous if I don’t find some way to stop myself from hitting the ground.

As I count the rows of stitches on the hat I’m knitting, Noah sets a cup of coffee on the table in front of me.

“How many more do you have to make?” he asks.

Lately, I don’t go anywhere without my knitting supplies. I’m on a deadline. The last day of school is in five days, and I’m knitting winter hats and mittens to match a coloring sheet from each of the kids in my class, bringing their visions to life.

It’s my way of taking care of my students without offering it up as charity. Our school is home to a lot of low-income families, and they can be reluctant to accept help—understandably so given the stigma that society foists upon those less fortunate.