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“Yeah, I did.”
When she falls silent, I realize her affair isn’t something I can shove under the rug and ignore. I can’t look at her without flashes of their embrace filling my head.
I clear my throat and force myself to say, “I tried calling you last night, but you didn’t pick up.”
Guilt flickers across her expression as her gaze drops to the ceramic mug in her hand. “You did? I’m so sorry. My ringer must have been turned off.” Concern fills her eyes when they snap back to mine. “Was everything all right? Did you need something?”
For a moment, I toy with admitting the truth. But I’m not ready to talk about it. I need time to process what happened. Maybe afterward, we can have a conversation. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m afraid she’ll downplay his actions and make excuses for his appalling behavior. She has it in her head that he’s my ticket to a better life.
“No, everything’s fine. I just needed to ask you a quick question.”
“Oh?” Her expression smooths out as she takes a sip of coffee.
I wave a hand. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Are you sure, sweetie?”
“Yeah.” I pause before blurting, “I didn’t get to bed until two o’clock last night and you still weren’t home.”
My gaze sharpens on her, wanting to see every emotion that flickers across her face. A heavy silence blankets us as she averts her attention. The seconds that tick by are excruciating.
“Actually,” she says, clearing her throat, “I was out on a date.”
Even though it’s been a little more than a decade since Dad died, a pang fills my heart. This is the first time she’s mentioned going out with a man. There’s always been too much going on and we were just trying to scrape by.
“Anyone I know?” I ask, forcing myself to remain calm.
“We’re not ready to go public quite yet.”
“Why not?” The small pit at the bottom of my belly grows until it’s more of an unpleasant lump.
“It’s a little complicated at the moment.”
It would be all too easy to drop this awkward conversation, but I refuse to give in to the urge. I fold my arms across my chest and lean against the door frame. “What makes the situation difficult?”
Her eyes search mine before she forces out a brittle laugh that sounds nothing like her. “What’s with all the questions? I’m a forty-year-old woman and entitled to my own life.”
Air seeps from my lungs as my shoulders collapse. All Mom has done since Dad died is take care of me. There have been times when she’s worked two jobs just to make sure I had everything I needed for school. When I decided to take up photography, she picked up a part-time job watching a neighbor’s kid so she could buy me a brand-new digital camera.
The last decade hasn’t been easy, and I’m the first one to admit that if anyone deserves to carve out a little piece of happiness for themselves, it’s my mother.
“Of course I know that,” I murmur. “I’m just surprised you haven’t mentioned it before.”
She tucks a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear before releasing a breath. “I guess, in the beginning, I wasn’t sure where it would lead, but now…” Her voice trails off, as if she’s not quite sure how to explain herself.
When the silence continues to stretch, I prompt, “Are you saying this relationship is serious?”
“I think it might be.”
I tilt my head, just wanting her to admit the truth so we can get it out in the open and talk about it. “But you won’t tell me who this man is?”
“For the time being, it’s not important.”
My brows pinch as I shake my head. “I don’t understand. If you like him and he feels the same, why does he have to remain a mystery?”
She purses her lips. “He’s a very private person.”
What’s become obvious is that she isn’t going to reveal his name. And maybe if I didn’t already know, I’d let it go. But how can I do that?
