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“Well, your dad and I are here for anything you need.”
I covered her hand on my arm and squeezed. “I know.”
We shared a small smile, and she left me to finish my food as she explained what was in all the containers. “There’s one more thing.”
“Yeah?” I dragged the garlic bread through the last of the sauce, hoping there was a pan of her fudgy brownies hidden somewhere.
“After the wedding, I started therapy.”
I jerked my head back. “You did what?”
Mom blew out a breath and looked at the ceiling. “Started therapy. When you said what you said—” I sat up straight, ready to defend myself, but she held up her hand and shook her head. “Your father gently suggested I talk to someone before you cut us out completely.” Her eyes shined with tears, and she wrung her hands in front of her. “He was right. I’d been so caught up in what I thought was right that I didn’t bother asking you what you wanted.”
“Okay?” Unease spread through me. Mom never apologized.
“Now, I’m not saying I’m okay with murder and all of that. But there was a time and place to talk to you about it, and thirty minutes after your wedding was ruined by the cops arresting your husband, wasn’t it.” She took the cover off a glass dish, and sure enough, there were a dozen of her fudge brownies. “As much as I wish you walked away from all this mess, I know Luca makes you happy. At the end of the day, that makes me happy.” She placed a chocolate square on a plate and pushed it toward me. “Happy Birthday, Sasha.”
My Birthday. I’d forgotten my birthday. Again.
Last year, it was my spiraling obsession with being and not being with Luca. This year was much the same, but we were married.
“Thanks, Mom.”
She grabbed a brownie and took a bite. Wide-eyed, I watched her eat the whole thing and then let out a content sigh. “Damn, I’m good. Aren’t you going to eat that?”
Nodding, I took a bite. But honestly? I didn’t taste it. I was too mesmerized by this strange creature in front of me. In all the years of her making fantastic treats, I’d only ever seen her nibble at crumbs. Something inside me settled at this tiny gesture that felt monumental.
Curiosity got the best of me, and I asked, “Who are you seeing?”
Mom tilted her head. “Are you thinking about seeing a therapist?”
“I wasn’t until now.” I let out a laugh and took a sip of water. “A couple of weeks ago, I had to see Beth about the casino, and she gave me the card to a therapist her mom wanted her to use. Seeing you all peaceful and eating chocolate makes me think I shouldn’t have thrown it away.”
“You wouldn’t want to see anyone recommended by that woman. I’ll text you my therapist’s information. She’s a part of an all-woman practice. There’s a young therapist who you might hit it off with.”
“You make it sound like dating.”
“I saw a couple before I landed on Linda. It’s important to find the right fit.”
I blew out a breath and nodded. “Okay. Yeah. Send me their info. I think it would be good to have someone to talk to that isn’t—” The doorbell cut me off, and I frowned. “I’ll be right back.”
“Let me just take care of these dishes.” The heavy conversation was over, and in true Maggie Mitchell form, she was tidying up.
Whoever was at the door rang the bell another two times before I jerked it open and came face to face with Marco. “What?”
Marco grinned down at me. “Hello to you too, Red.” Walking past me, he took a deep breath. “Is that lasagna?” He patted his stomach and disappeared around the corner.
As I went to shut the door, Frankie shoved in. “Is there enough for me?” He jogged away from my swatting hands.
Peeking my head outside, I eyed Tommy. “You planning on coming in too?”
“No, ma’am—I mean Sasha.”
I sucked my teeth and shut the door. In the kitchen, I heard mom telling “the boys” to take a seat and that she would make them a plate.
Defeated, I turned off the tv, my movie night was clearly over.
Frankie was thoughtfully chewing when I joined the most ridiculous late-night dinner crew I’d ever seen.
