Page 184 of Fake it ’Til Fall

My throat burns.

I swallow it down.

“But I needed you to care that it happened to me. I needed you to be angry for me before you asked me to be useful.”

Silence.

The air goes cold against my cheeks.

No one moves.

Mom’s eyes shine, and that almost undoes me.

I have spent my entire life making sure my mother never had to feel too much on my behalf. I am very good at it. Award-winning, probably. There should be a sash. Maybe a small crown made of unpaid emotional labor.

But I am tired.

So fucking tired.

And today, tired feels less like failure and more like evidence.

Mom presses a hand to her mouth.

I shake my head, softer now. “I’m not saying I won’t help. I’m here. I’ll do the work. I’ll make sure the chairs don’t collapse and the bride doesn’t sue over napkin texture. I’ll be professional because I’m good at that.”

My voice wavers.

I let it.

“But I’m done pretending I’m fine, so everyone else can enjoy the party.”

Forrest’s hand finds mine then.

This time, I take it.

Mom looks at our joined hands.

Then at me.

For once, she does not correct my tone, or smooth the moment, or turn pain into a task.

She only nods once.

“You’re right,” she says, and her voice breaks on the last word.

My whole body goes still.

I did not know I needed to hear it until it is there.

Forrest’s thumb moves once over my knuckles.

Mom exhales. “You’re right, Daisy. I should have been angry for you.”

Puck presses his head into my leg like he has appointed himself emotional security.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

Two words.