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I nod. Mom remembers because six months ago I spent an entire phone call telling her what we could do with it. Her expression brightens. "Maddy, that's wonderful."

"It is."

"When do you have to decide?"

"Friday."

"And you're going to take it?"

I look at the laptop. "I don't know."

Mom stops cutting. I wish she wouldn't. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Mom."

She sets the knife down. "You've wanted that space for months."

"I know."

"So what changed?"

I could give her the easy answer. The market changed. The numbers need another look. I want to talk to Julian. All technically true. None of them the truth. I close the laptop.

"My life did."

Mom's expression softens. I immediately regret saying it. Not because it isn't true. Because saying it makes the problem real.

She comes to the table and sits across from me.

"I love the restaurant," I say.

"I know."

"I love what Julian and I built."

"I know that too."

"I worked really hard for that life."

"No one's asking you to pretend you didn't."

I look at her. "That's not very helpful."

"I'm your mother, not a fortune cookie."

I laugh despite myself. She reaches across the table and touches my hand.

"You don't have to make one life bad to admit you want something from another one."

The laugh disappears. I look toward the window. Oakridge on a Sunday morning. Quiet street. Changing leaves. A town I once couldn't wait to leave.

"I don't even know what I want yet."

"Then maybe that's the question you answer first."

Before I can respond, footsteps pound down the hallway. Noah appears carrying one sneaker.