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By the time I finished, the scarf framed her face neatly. The whimsical floral pattern complemented the dark strands of hair I’d managed to arrange around it. I rested my hands on her shoulders as I studied my work.

“Is that okay?” I asked, my voice more uncertain than I meant it to be. I just wanted it to be right for her. She didn’t need to be worrying about her hair today.

Mom’s head tilted slightly as she looked in the mirror, her fingers toying with the ends of her hair.

“It’s perfect, Rhodes,” she said with a smile. “Thank you.”

My heart lodged in my throat, and I simply nodded, unsure if I could respond with actual words. I kept my hands where they were, lingering longer than I probably needed to, but I couldn’t quite make myself let go. Not yet.

“Have I told you today that I love you?” Mom asked. A small smile pulled at the corner of my mouth. For as long as I could remember, she’d asked us that. Sometimes it was first thing in the morning, sometimes halfway through dinner, and sometimes completely out of nowhere, like she’d suddenly realized the day had gone on too long without her saying it. After I’d left Everdale, the same question showed up in my texts or emails when she couldn’t call.

“You haven’t today.” Even if she had, I wouldn’t have minded hearing it all over again.

Her hand covered mine where it rested on her shoulder, her frail fingers wrapping around mine. Her expression shifted to something full of remorse and sadness.

“There will never be enough words in this world for me to tell you just how much I love you, Rhodes,” Mom whispered. My chest tightened hard enough to hurt. “I know I failed you—”

“You didn’t—”

“I did,” she interrupted, nodding as her eyes turned glassy. “I did. You needed more than I knew how to give you. You deserved so much more from me growing up. But I hope you know there has never been a single moment of your life when you had to earn my love. There was nothing you could’ve done to make me love you more, Rhodes, and there was nothing you could’ve done to make me love you less.”

I couldn’t reply. I’d spent my life believing love came with requirements—that there would always be a version of me that my family preferred. That she would’ve loved more than who I am. Hearing her say otherwise should’ve been a relief. It was everything I wanted. Instead, it threatened to break me. I didn’t know how to handle it. I wasn’t sure I could.

“And I hope you know all I want is for you to be happy,” she continued, her voice breaking slightly as tears slipped down her cheeks unnoticed. “I want you to live your life exactly how you want it to. Not for someone else or what you think others want for you. You deserve nothing less than an extraordinary life, baby boy, and I hope… I hope you found it despite the things I couldn’t protect you from.”

Her words shattered something inside me. For one reckless second, I almost told her. The thought came on so fast it stole the air from my lungs. I could tell her—right here, right now. I could tell her about the happiness I’d found. I could tell her about Theo and the future I was planning.

I could tell her I was gay.

My mouth opened, but nothing came out. Even though I believed every word she’d said, I still couldn’t bring myself to say it. Fear wove its way through my chest, automatic and brutal.

Fear of what came next.

Fear of changing the way she saw me.

Fear of my father somehow ruining everything.

Fear of giving her one more thing to worry about when she was already carrying the weight of the world.

I felt it in every fiber of my being, and I hated myself a little for it.

Mom waited quietly as I worked through the emotions threatening to take me out by the knees. She didn’t push or demand anything out of me. Her hand simply tightened a little around mine, as if to remind me she was right there.

And so I swallowed the confession, choosing the only words I could say.

“I am, Mom,” I said softly. “I’m happy.”

A small smile broke through the sadness in her expression. There wasn’t an ounce of disappointment on her face for all the things I couldn’t tell her. If anything, she was patient—like she somehow understood I was standing on the edge of something I wasn’t ready to cross. I found myself wishing for the first time that courage was something I could borrow from her.

CHAPTER 67

Rhodes

By the time everyone crowded around the dining room table, Thanksgiving had somehow gone from something Jude and I were questionably qualified to cook into an actual meal. And this time, no fire department was involved. That alone felt like a win.

The table barely had enough room for it all. The turkey sat in the center, surrounded by a ridiculous amount of side dishes—I was pretty sure we’d made too many. Five different pies sat on the counter because Mom had insisted dessert needed to be over the top this year. Jude had decided presentation was everything and spent ten minutes rearranging the serving dishes until Dad had told him to sit the hell down.

Mom looked beautiful. She still looked tired. I could see it in how she settled into her chair a little more carefully and in the faint shadows beneath her eyes, despite her makeup. But she was smiling, which was all that mattered.