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“What do you say we go grab breakfast. Just you and me?”
I turned toward her and closed the fridge door. Going to breakfast was Mom’s code for: I want to talk to you about something serious. So, I searched her face, looking for a hint of what was in store for me.
The hair on my arms prickled. “Where’s Dad?” I asked.
“Already at work.” She smiled weakly, then said, “Come on. Go get dressed. It’ll be fun. We’ll go to Sweet Stacks.”
Sweet Stacks was a bribe. She knew it was my favorite because they served waffles two inches thick, stacked three-high, with fruit and whipped cream.
My hesitation was brief before I said, “Okay,” and hurried out of the kitchen and up the stairs, but not without a lump in my throat and a sinking in my gut.
By the time we arrived at the little diner, the silence in the car was deafening. We were seated almost immediately, and after we placed our orders, Mom curled her hands around her coffee cup.I’ll Be Home For Christmasplayed in the background—my favorite Christmas carol—and when she glanced up over at me, I knew it was coming. Whatever her reason for wanting to talk, I was about to find out.
“I want to apologize. I know I haven’t been around much lately, or at least not very present. With Ella gone, that makes it even worse for you.”
I swallowed. So this was about her and Dad. It’s what I expected. Still, that didn’t make it any easier.
I played with the silverware in front of me, rubbing at the hard water marks and buffing it out until I could see my reflection in my spoon. “Neither has Dad,” I pointed out, mostly because saying something felt better than staying quiet.
Mom nodded and bit her lower lip before meeting my eyes again. “I just want you to know that you’re a good kid, Mia. You’ve always made things so easy.” She smiled again, and for a moment, I just wished she’d stop. It was brittle and weak and fake, and I wanted no false happiness from her. It only reminded me of how wrong everything was.
While I was old enough to rationalize that none of this was my fault—her and Dad—her comment only reminded me of how I may have been an easy kid, but it wasn’t enough to hold our family together. Maybe nothing was.
“What’s happening with you guys?” I asked. “Are you going to get a divorce?”
“I don’t know.”
Well, at least she wasn’t lying. Wait until I told Ella.
Mom refilled her coffee cup from the little carafe on the table, and I sensed it was more to keep her hands busy than anything. Then she took a sip and glanced up at me. “Whatever happens, we love you and your sister. I want you to know that. And everything will be okay.”
The way she said it made me think she did know what was going to happen with them. Maybe she was lying after all. Then again, I already knew what the future held. It was only a matter of time before they split. Part of me wondered why they didn’t just get it over with. Like ripping a Band-Aid off. Instead, they were slowly picking away at the scab, and all it did was make it bleed until it was sure to leave a scar.
Mom reached out and squeezed my hand over the cheap gingham tablecloth, while I tried to focus on the bright red and white squares, but it was hard through the blur of tears.
“You’ve done nothing wrong in this, Mia. Nothing. You’ve been amazing, and what’s happening between your father and I is between us. It’s on us. We’ve grown apart. Things have happened. Maybe we got too comfortable and stopped trying. Maybe that was the problem. I don’t know that it’s as simple as one thing or one reason that’s torn us down, but you, my dear, along with Ella, are the two amazing things that came from us. And we will never regret that. We could never regret the two of you. Ever.”
By the time we arrived home from breakfast, a heaviness had settled on my shoulders. I was pretty sure Mom’s talk was supposed to reassure me, but it somehow made me all the more anxious. At any second, my world could be flipped upside down, and Ella wasn’t even here to soften the blow.
I just wished they’d get it over with.
I hopped out of the car and walked next to my mom toward the front door. A large box sat on the front porch. Taped to the top of it was a card with my name on it, written in the small, sloppy scrawl I recognized as Carson’s handwriting.
“What’s this?” Mom said, picking up the card.
I yanked it from her hands, then blushed. “Sorry. Um, I think it’s from Carson.”
“Brooks?” Her eyes widened, conveying her surprise.
Welcome to the club.
“Uh, yeah,” I said, avoiding her gaze.
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Oh. So, how’s the Angel Program going? Good, I take it?”
“Yeah, good.” I nodded. My fingers itched to open the package. All I wanted to do was take it up to my room so I could see what was inside.
“Good,” Mom repeated like it was a new word. “Well, I’m glad,” she said with a knowing smile. “You know, I always thought he might have a crush on you. When you guys were kids, he used to watch you and Ethan play. He was always trying to get your attention.”
