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He studied me for a long moment. “Never said she was.”
“I mean...she can be distant, and she can be hyper focused elsewhere.” His mouth tightened at that description, but he didn’t contradict me. “But she’s also the same mom who would wake me up some mornings and we’d just take a road trip. You weren’t here, but when I was in fifth grade, she took me to Colorado the week of my birthday. No reason, just woke up one morning and said, get in the car. Let’s go. I saw snow for the first time…real snow. Itsnowedon my birthday, and it was awesome.”
I’d almost forgotten that.
“One time she came home, she’d gotten a raise at work and she bought that laptop I use. It was a random day, but it was sitting on my bed with a bow on the top. Just because.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up, but his eyes held no smile as he released my hand and brushed away the tears on my cheeks.
“She’s not totally terrible.”
“Frankie, you can still love your mom, even if you can’t stand her.” The soft understanding in those words left my eyes hot with tears. “When I was little, my grandmother told me that family is something you build. Relations are something you maintain. But the thing she stressed the most was that just because you love something, doesn’t mean it’s good for you. It’s okay to say no to what isn’t good for you.”
My mother wasn’t good for me.
The distance between us had been expanding for months. Years really. When was the last time we had a spontaneous trip? A moment of levity and impulse?
“I guess I get leaving, I don’t get how she does it without actually telling me, or how she does it without taking that picture in her room. She loved that picture. Or at least, she used to.”
When Archie pulled me out of the chair and wrapped his arms around me, I hid my face against his shirt and cried. I didn’t even want to cry. First Ian. Now my mom.
Neither should be a surprise.
I mean, I broke up with Ian. I made that choice.
I told Mom I wouldn’t support the thing with Mr. Standish. Another choice.
Didn’t quite explain why it all hurt so damn much. I had no idea how long Archie just sat there with me curled up in his lap crying, but eventually, the sobs gave way to hiccups. My eyes hurt. My nose was runny. My throat was sore. Not giving me any teasing or grief, he eased me onto my own chair before he got me water, then he disappeared only to return with a cold, damp washcloth.
His smile was gentle the whole time he wiped my face, and then he told me to sit still while he cleaned up the remains of our dinner. Only when he was done—and he checked the cats’ food and water—did he double-check both doors were locked before he tugged me back to my room.
Archie stripped down to his boxers and then he helped me out of most of my clothes. Most, because once I was down to panties, he tugged his t-shirt over my head. “Come on,” he told me before tugging me over to the bed. Curled up together, he dragged the blankets over us. It didn’t take long before all the cats found a spot.
Then he opened his phone and tabbed over to the photos and a folder called Frankie.
“Holy crap…”
“You said she loved that photo,” he told me. “I bet you loved it, too.”
I did.
“So, confession time…and if it’s a little stalkery, apologies in advance, but I’ve been saving these for years and I keep adding to them.”
He tabbed the folder open, and one of the first pictures came from the other night when we’d been celebrating my scholarship. I was sitting on Jake’s shoulders in the pool, soaking wet and laughing. The next shot was me studying at school—
“Archie, I’m chewing on my hair.” It was a terrible habit. One I thought I’d stopped.
“You do that sometimes,” he sounded practically indulgent. “It’s adorable.”
I groaned.
There were so many more pictures. Some I’d known he’d taken, like the ones from our date. Others—including one of me sleeping—I hadn’t known. Scrolling back through them was like taking a trip through time over the last four years we’d known each other.
“This one,” Archie said as we reached middle. “This one is one of my favorites.”
I had on a red baseball cap, my hair was in a messy ponytail, my ratted jeans were on, and I was wearing a white crop-top. You couldn’t see my face really, since my head was down.
“Why is it your favorite?”
