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He didn’t leave. I did.
I left.
I did this.
Me.
…Again.
I think my mother’s grip tightens, but I can’t be certain with all the turmoil going on inside my mind.
“Hailey, just because things didn’t work out with us doesn’t mean you’re destined for the same path. We fell out of the romantic type of love, but that doesn’t mean you should be afraid to let yourself fall into it. I think you already have—”
“—Stop!” I breathe. “Just…stop.”
I swear my airway has collapsed under the pressure of my bones. Spitting out those few words has taken all the oxygen I have left. My insides burn with equal parts acid and misery.
“You’ve rationalized the outcome differently and failed to see our happiness by projecting the downfall and turning them into doubts. You made something that can be beautiful into a fear.”
I hate hearing this pain in her voice. Almost as much as I hate being a part of this conversation.
Then she has to go and make it worse, dig the knife a little deeper as if I wasn’t already bleeding. “I know this is in part to do with what happened in the kitchen, but sweetheart, you have to understand I was grieving too. I wouldn’t change the outcome, but you weren’t the only one in mourning.”
The weight of the cushion dips, sinking farther, making herself closer than she already is.
“I shouldn’t have put the added burden on you when you were already dealing with so much, and for this, I am truly sorry.” She swipes, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry I shattered the ideal of what love is for you.”
I choke down her empathy and swallow it as my own. “You didn’t.”
Her expression softens. “A man doesn’t confess his feelings for you in front of an entire room of people if there’s nothing there.”
“He was drunk,” I mock, as if I didn’t catch on to her sly change of topic or that she noticed at all.
“And what about the times before that?” She taps at my cheek, where a dimple sometimes pops out when I smile. Now is not one of those times.
I swat her hand away.
“You know, after I hassled him, your father admitted you two had been spending a lot of time together.” Her tone turns stern. “And don’t even try and pretend to convince me it wasonlybecause of Aiden. I’m your mother. I know these things,” she adds cheekily.
Aiden was a big—monumental—part in the beginning. But then thingsdidshift, and although I can’t pinpoint an exact moment, she’s right. Our interactions stopped being only because of our son.
My nose crinkles, miffed. “You and Dad are gossips.”
She shoots me a look, and it’s irritating because it’s the same annoyed one I’d given her earlier, onlyhershas some humor behind it. Mine had zero.
“I told you; your father and I have a love for one another, it’s only a different, platonic kind now, and it works for us.”
I lift my nose in defiance. “Finn and I are friends too.”
Her tongue clicks, mocking.
“What? We are,” I defend. “We text about Aiden every day.”
She doesn’t buy it.
…You don’t either.
“Sweetie, you’re the only one who hasn’t moved on from the past. You’re the only one who’s making yourself scared.”
