Page 108 of The Holiday Makeover

I lowered myself onto the drop cloth between them, wordlessly urging them to make room for me as I eyed the heavenly smelling beef Bolognese.

But before I ate, I felt like I needed to say something to my mom. Or at least take her hand.

I knew she felt guilty and blamed herself for all of this in ways that probably weren’t fair. And while I wished she had been more supportive in years past, I also knew I should have said something sooner.

I was a grown freaking man who should have taken more control of his life.

And I couldn’t forget the good. All the homemade birthday cakes. The way she’d gotten up early every morning when I was growing up to make me breakfast. How she’d volunteered for everything at school and brought snacks for the entire football team every day during practice. I couldn’t even imagine how much that cost or the time she put into it. My friends and I hadn’t just eaten food—we’d inhaled it.

That was how she showed her love.

Maybe it wasn’t exactly perfect or the way I always needed it. But don’t we all love like that? Hell, I knew I loved imperfectly. Just ask Rory. The point was that my mom had loved me and still did.

I took her hand.

She clung to it and let her head fall against my arm.

Rory kissed my cheek.

Her affection caught me off guard, but I was grateful for it all the same. Especially because it seemed to say she was proud of me.

“I think I’m going to eat with Darian,” Rory said. “He promised to tell me all about how the two of you took a pottery-making class together.”

“It wasn’t pottery,” I said, probably too quickly. “It was a very manly sculpture-making class.” We used metal and power tools. Okay, and some clay.

Both my mom and Rory snickered.

“Uh-huh.” Rory stood, smiling brighter than she had in days.

“Don’t go on my account,” Mom said. “I’m fine.”

Rory gave my mom that knowing look of hers. “You’re not. But you will be. You need your son, and . . . he needs you too.”

Without another word, she headed off with her food. But not before stealing two more breadsticks.

I watched Rory go, wanting her more with every step she took away from me.

“I love that girl,” Mom whispered. “I always have. You two seem to be working it out,” she added, though it sounded more like a question. Or a fishing expedition.

So I threw her a line.

“There’s hope for us.”

“I’m glad.” Her voice trembled with emotion.

“Did something happen between you and Dad?” I asked.

Because suddenly I wondered if there was still hope for them.

I had never meant to come between my parents.

“Nothing. That’s the problem. He won’t talk to me. He’s just shut down.”

I thought back to when Rory had told me she didn’t want to take the network deal and that she was staying in Nashville.

I had shut down too.

At the time, I’d chalked it up to disbelief. But looking back, I think it was because some part of me knew I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life, and not even I was going to let myself stop it.