4. Mabel
mabel
. . .
The scent of cedar and salt air hits me like a slap of nostalgia the moment I step off the plane.
"Mabel, honey!" Mom's voice carries across the small terminal, and I spot her immediately—same auburn hair as mine, though hers is streaked with silver now, same blue eyes crinkled with excitement. She’s practically bouncing on her toes as she rushes toward us.
"Hi, Mom." I barely get the words out before she's crushing me in a hug that smells like vanilla and the lavender fabric softener she's used since I was twelve.
"And you must be the boyfriend I've heard absolutely nothing about!" She releases me and turns expectantly to Aidan, who's standing there looking like a deer caught in headlights.
"Oh God, no." The words tumble out faster than I intended. "Mom, this is Aidan, my colleague. He volunteered to be my plus one."
Her face falls slightly, but she recovers with the grace of a woman who's spent thirty years married to a small-town mayor. "Of course! How silly of me. Though you two do make a lovely pair."
“Drop the fantasies, Mom. Aiden is married to a man.” I burst her bubble before she can begin to hope.
Aidan clears his throat awkwardly. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Maxwell."
"Please, call me Rachel." She loops her arms through both of ours as we head toward baggage claim. "Now, Mabel, you'll never guess who I ran into at the grocery store yesterday."
My stomach drops. There are exactly three people in this town she could be referring to with that particular tone of barely contained glee, and I'm praying it's not the one I think it is.
"Cole Bennett."
Fuck. Of course, it is.
"He looks wonderful, honey. He has really filled out since high school—all muscle now from that construction work. And still single, can you believe it? Such a catch and no one's snatched him up yet."
I focus on breathing steadily through my nose while she prattles on, but my hands are already clenching into fists.
"Mom," I interrupt, trying to keep my voice level. "I didn't come back to Cedar Bay to discuss Cole Bennett's relationship status."
"Oh, I know, sweetheart. But you should see him now—he's got his own business with Rowan and that Fox boy––you remember Fox?
They're doing so well. Cole just finished renovating the old Miller place down by the water.
Gorgeous work." She sighs wistfully as we wait for our luggage to appear on the carousel.
"He always was so talented with his hands. "
Heat crawls up my neck at the unintended innuendo, and I catch Aidan smirking beside me.
"Rachel," Aidan chimes in, clearly enjoying my discomfort, "Mabel's mentioned Cole before. High school sweethearts, right?"
I shoot him a look that could melt steel, but Mom's already off and running.
"Oh yes! They were inseparable. Prom king and queen, of course. I always thought..." She trails off, studying my face. "Well, water under the bridge now."
My black suitcase finally appears, and I grab it with more force than necessary. "Can we please change the subject?"
"Of course, honey." But there's a gleam in her eye that I recognize from childhood—the same look she got when she was planning surprise birthday parties or scheming to get me to eat vegetables.
"It's just that he'll probably be at the wedding, you know.
Since he's friends with the groom's family and all. "
My chest tightens. Of course, Cole will be there. In a town of three thousand people, everyone's invited to everything.
"That's fine. We're both adults." The words taste like sawdust in my mouth.
We pile into Mom's ancient Honda, and she chatters nonstop during the fifteen-minute drive through downtown Cedar Bay. The place looks exactly like the same—quaint storefronts, American flags hanging from every lamppost, the kind of Norman Rockwell perfection that used to make me feel suffocated.
Now, it just makes me feel exposed.
"Oh, and he bought a house!" Mom announces as we pull into the familiar driveway of my childhood home. "Right on Maple Street, three blocks from here. He fixed it up himself—you know how he is. Added a whole second story and everything."
Three blocks. Jesus Christ. I could literally walk there in five minutes if I lost my mind completely.
"How nice for him," I manage, stepping out of the car and breathing in the scent of Mom's rose garden. Even that smells the same—sweet and overwhelming, just like everything else in this place.
"The yard is just beautiful now. He planted all these native flowers, and there's this gorgeous deck overlooking the water. Very romantic." She gives me a pointed look as she unlocks the front door. "Perfect for entertaining."
"Mom." My voice carries a warning that she completely ignores.
"I'm just saying if you wanted to stop by and say hello while you're in town?—"
"I don't."
"—it would be the neighborly thing to do."
The house wraps around me like a time capsule. It's the same burgundy couch where Cole and I used to study for calculus tests. The same family photos march up the staircase, including several that feature a younger, happier version of myself wrapped in his arms.
Aidan whistles low. "Wow, this place is like a museum. Is that you at prom?" He's pointing at a photo where seventeen-year-old me is beaming up at Cole in his rented tux, his hands resting on my waist like I might disappear if he let go.
"Ancient history," I mutter, dragging my suitcase toward the stairs.
"He still asks about you, you know," Mom says quietly, and something in her tone makes me freeze halfway up the first step.
I turn around slowly. "What?"
"Cole. Whenever I see him around town, he always asks how you're doing in Portland, if you're happy." Her expression softens. "He seems... lonely, honey."
My throat constricts. "That's not my problem anymore."
But even as I say it, something twists painfully in my chest.
Mom's eyes follow me up the stairs, and I feel them burning into my back like twin lasers. "Your dad will be home for dinner at six," she calls after me. "He's so excited to see you."
"Great," I say, not turning around. I can't let her see my face right now.
I push open the door to my childhood bedroom, and it's like stepping into a time warp. Everything is exactly as I left it when I packed for college—the pale blue walls, the white eyelet curtains, even the framed sketch of the Cedar Bay lighthouse that Cole drew for me on our first anniversary.
Aidan appears in the doorway behind me, whistling low. "Well, this is like the Mabel Maxwell museum exhibit. I half expect there to be a velvet rope and an audio tour."
I toss my suitcase onto the bed with a groan. "This was a mistake. I should have stayed at the Bay View Inn."
"And miss all this maternal matchmaking? Not a chance." He flops down on the bed beside my suitcase. "It’s good to know I’m not the only one who believes you should give that small-town Romeo another chance."
“You’re both delusional.” I counter while unzipping my suitcase.
"Am I, though?" Aidan picks up the framed lighthouse sketch, examining it with the critical eye of someone who appreciates art. "This is good. Your boy's got talent."
"He's not my boy." I snatch the frame from his hands and shove it face-down in the top drawer of my dresser. "And talent doesn't excuse abandoning someone when they need you most."
"Mabel—"
"Drop it, Aidan." I pull out my cocktail dress for tomorrow's rehearsal dinner, shaking out the wrinkles with more violence than necessary. "I came here to see my cousin Rowan get married, smile for photos, and leave. That's it."
But even as I say it, Mom's words echo in my head. He seems lonely, honey.
Good. Cole should be lonely. He chose this town over me, opting for his safe, little life over our future together. If he's lonely now, that's exactly what he deserves.
A knock at my bedroom door interrupts my internal spiral of righteous anger.
"Mabel?" Mom's voice is softer now, tentative. "Can I come in?"
I glance at Aidan, who's now examining my old collection of Nancy Drew books with entirely too much interest. "Sure."
She steps inside, carrying a steaming mug that smells like chamomile and honey—the same tea she used to make when I had nightmares as a kid.
"I'm sorry," she says, settling on the edge of my bed. "I shouldn't have ambushed you with all that talk about Cole. Your father always says I have the subtlety of a freight train."
Despite everything, I feel my mouth twitch. "Dad's not wrong."
"I just..." She sighs, wrapping her hands around the mug. "I worry about you, sweetheart. You work so hard, and you never mention dating anyone, and I thought maybe?—"
"Maybe what? That I'd come crawling back to my high school boyfriend because my life in Portland is somehow incomplete without a man?" The words come out sharper than I intended, and I see her flinch.
"No, that's not what I meant at all." Her voice is quiet but firm. "I meant that you haven't seemed truly happy in years, and the last time I saw you light up like the sun was when you were with him."
The mug trembles slightly in her hands, and suddenly, I see her as she is—not the meddling mother trying to orchestrate my love life, but a woman who misses her daughter and wants her to find joy.
"Mom." I sit down beside her, and she immediately passes me the tea. "I am happy. I have a career I love, a beautiful apartment, independence?—"
"But are you fulfilled?" she asks softly. "There's a difference, you know."
I take a sip of the chamomile, letting the familiar taste ground me.
Through my childhood window, I can see the harbor in the distance, dotted with fishing boats heading out for the evening catch.
Somewhere out there is probably Cole's boat—he always talked about getting one, about lazy Sunday mornings on the water.
"It's complicated, Mom."
"The best things usually are."