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"Don't give up on us before we have a chance, Macy. I'm not a teenager, I know what I want, and I want you."
I wanted this life with them, too, more than anything.
Then why did I feel like something bad was coming our way?
ChapterTwenty-One
Macy
Everything about this moment felt like home. Mom dancing around the kitchen in her frilly, once-white apron. The scent of cinnamon and sweets in the air. Eighties music blasting through the speaker.
Until her bossiness kicked in.
Mom took her farmers market planning seriously. This weekend they were hosting some sort of kids' olympics, so they were expecting an even bigger turnout than usual. The organizers told them to plan for at least double of what they generally sell.
"Get that bowl and start on a batch of cakes. I bought these cute little tins to do mini-cakes again," she said, picking up one of them to show me like she hadn't the moment they arrived a few days ago.
"On it," I promised, plucking her recipe from the stack on the counter and getting started.
We worked quietly, aside from the music, for a bit before she was done with it.
"So, has that asshole tried to contact you any more?"
"His mom did one last time," I admitted. "She got him some help and just didn't want me worried that he had gone through with his threats."
"Total mom move, I appreciate her for that," Mom said, nodding in approval and waving a spatula at me. "You've moved on to better men anyway."
"Oh god," I groaned. She flashed me a wicked smile and flicked flour at me.
"Don't deny it. Your bed has been empty for how long now? And don't you dare blame it on sweet Roscoe," she accused before switching to a baby voice for the pug standing vigil under the table, waiting for dropped treats he could gobble up.
"They've been all in for a bit," I admitted. A small smile played across my lips as I cracked eggs into the bowl.
"Aw, I know that look," she sang out. "Wait,theyhave? Not you?"
"Obvious reasons," I said, giving a shrug and trying to hide my frown. She narrowed her eyes and went to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of cold champagne and orange juice.
"This calls for mimosas, then you can tell your mom all about it," she said, grabbing down two glasses and calling out to my dad.
"Mom's making mimosas," I told him when he reluctantly walked in. He chuckled and fully stepped into the room now that he wasn't getting roped into kitchen chores. He'd run to the store without complaint, but ask him to whisk and he was going to grumble the whole time.
Dad popped the bottle of the champagne and handed it over to Mom with a quick kiss before retreating.
"Don't go far! I think I'll need new supplies by lunch time," she yelled after him.
She poured a generous amount of champagne in and a dash of orange juice before sliding it over.
"Now spill, talk to your momma," she demanded, giving me a glare before turning her attention back to the icing she was whipping up.
I gathered my thoughts as I sifted in the flour. She waited patiently while I tried to work it out. Then once I started, I couldn't seem to stop.
"It all boils down to me being a big, scared baby. They've been amazing and have taken everything at my pace. Honestly, I couldn't have found better guys. But part of me keeps waiting for them to laugh and tell me it's all a joke. Guys like them don't date girls like me."
Mom froze, dropping her spoon and coming over to me. When I turned to face her, flour-coated hands rested on my cheeks and her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. There was a pain in her eyes at my pain, but also an understanding.
"We women have such shit standards, Macy. You are beautiful and worthy of love. Don't listen to anyone telling you how to treatyourbody. There are impossible standards everywhere, from weight, to makeup, to clothes. No woman is truly safe from some sort of body shaming. It's sad, but a reality. All we can do is find our own happiness. It took me a long time to find that in myself. Your father has never made me feel like less for having a few extra pounds or not putting makeup on every day. He loves me like I am and they feel the same about you."
"They do," I agreed.
