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Her kind eyes crinkle on the sides with a smile. “It’s like you’re an entirely new person.”
“A better one?” My tone holds so much hope, it’s pathetic.
She nods. “Well, yes. You’re more vocal, and less…”
“Snobby,” I finish for her. “I know. I kind of figured that out.”
She smiles awkwardly, and we silently agree to let the subject go.
We get to work. Izzy prepares the dough and speaks about Jason and the NFL draft. It’s their dream coming true.
My heart warms at how proud she is of him, but also at the sacrifices she’s made to get him here. When her husband died, leaving Izzy with a toddler, she moved from the south to escape her conservative family after they tried to force her into marrying a man ‘to take care of her’. She worked several jobs until she got to Alex’s house.
“Jason is lucky to have a mother like you,” I tell her as I shape the cookie dough with her.
“I’m lucky to have him as my son.” She grins.
“Izzy?” I don’t meet her eyes as I ask. “Since you’ve been here for a long time, have you ever met my mom?”
She shakes her head in my peripheral vision. “When I came to work here, your dad was your only parent.”
“Then have you ever heard anything about her?”
“I think she died during childbirth? That’s what I heard from the servants around here.”
That’s the only information I know.
My hands falter around the dough, trembling. I even killed my own damn mother.
“What is wrong with me?” I murmur, not meaning to say it aloud.
“Hey.” Izzy pats my hand with an affectionate expression. “It wasn’t your fault. No one’s birth is wrong.”
I smile a little. Considering my bitchy nature, I doubt I was ever good to Izzy, so I’m beyond thankful she’s trying to cheer me on.
“What about Alex’s wife?”
Her features fall and she seems in deep thought, as if choosing her words carefully. “She died in an accident when Asher was about ten.”
Oh.
On some level, Asher and I share a tragedy. The only difference is, I didn’t know my mother, while he did.
Wait…
If I’ve never met my mother, how come I keep having these bursts of memories about her? She used to tell me things, and I remember them.
“Asher and Arianna were devastated.”
“Who’s Arianna?”
Izzy freezes as if she realized what she uttered is taboo. “Uh…forget about it.”
“No, tell me. Please?” I soften my expression. “I feel so lost already. Don’t hide other things from me.”
“Asher’s younger sister. One year younger, to be exact.”
I didn’t know Asher has a sister. There are no pictures or photo albums in this house.
