Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
LILY
Mom’s kitchen smells like home—garlic and herbs, tomato sauce simmering on the stove, fresh bread warming in the oven. The familiar scents usually wrap around me like a blanket, but today they feel suffocating.
She doesn’t look up when I walk in, just waves to the cutting board on the counter where vegetables are already waiting. We fall into our usual rhythm of me chopping everything for the salad, while she does everything else, both of us moving around each other in a dance perfected over the years.
The radio is on low in the background. Some easy listening station that she’s tuned into for as long as I can remember.
“How’s your class doing with the ocean unit?”
“Good. Marcus tried to convince everyone that sharks are just big swimming dogs.”
She smiles. “That sounds like Marcus.”
“Rose called this morning. She wants to know about Thanksgiving.”
“It’s October.”
“You know your sister. She likes to plan ahead.”
“I might stay home this year. It’s Cassidy’s first Thanksgiving without her mom.”
Mom nods, but she’s barely listening, her attention somewhere else.
I move on to the tomatoes. “Do you want these diced or wedged?”
“Wedged is fine.”
The oven timer dings. She pulls out the bread, and the scent of rosemary and garlic fills the kitchen. For a moment, it almost feels normal. Like any other Sunday. But then I catch her glancing at me when she thinks I’m not looking.
“Set the table?”
I dry my hands and gather plates from the cupboard. The good ones, because it’s Sunday, along with the cloth napkins she embroidered years ago. I lay out two place settings, leaving the third spot empty.
It’s been four years since Dad died, and I can still picture him at the table. The way he’d sit back and listen when Mom and I would circle around difficult topics. He never inserted himself unless asked, he never took sides.
I could use that now. That steady, quiet, certainty that everything would work itself out.
“Wine?” Mom holds up a bottle of red.
“Please.”
She pours, and we sit. The lasagna is perfect as usual. Layers of pasta, sauce, and cheese, with the crispy edge around the corners that I’ve always loved.
“Natasha’s daughter started kindergarten. Have you seen her?” Natasha is one of Mom’s neighbors.
“She’s in the Butterfly room with Claire. I’ve got the Starfish kids this year.”
“Oh, that’s right. How’s that little boy doing? Tommy, is it? The one who was having trouble settling in?”
“Better. We found some things that help him. He has his own quiet corner now, and we’re working with his mom on a routine.”
She nods, like it’s the most fascinating thing she’s heard all day.
The clock on the wall ticks. Outside, a car passes, music thumping through closed windows. Mom twists her wedding ring. A habit she developed after Dad died. She does it when she’s anxious. Eventually, she sets down her fork.
“Lily.” Her voice is soft. “We need to talk about this.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Yes, we do.” She takes a breath. “I know you’re not okay.”
I can’t swallow past the lump in my throat. “I’m fine.”
“Sweetheart—”
“I said I’m fine.” The words come out sharp.
She’s quiet for a long moment, studying my face. Reading all the things I’m trying to hide.
“You look like you haven’t slept. Your eyes are swollen. And you’re pushing food around your plate instead of eating. You’re not fine.”
“What do you want me to say?” My fork clatters to the plate. “That seeing him again destroyed me? That I can’t stop thinking about it? That seven years later, I’m still—” I press my lips together, blinking hard.
“Still what?”
“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
“It clearly matters.” She reaches across the table, but I pull my hand back before she can touch it.
“Can we please just eat?”
“Lily—”
“What do you want from me?” The words burst out before I can stop them. “Do you want me to say I’m over it? That I’ve moved on? I have moved on. I have a career. I have friends. I have a life that has nothing to do with him.”
“Then why are you falling apart?”
I don’t have an answer. Or maybe I do, and I just don’t want to say it out loud.
“I’m worried about you, honey. Last time broke you into pieces. It took you years to put yourself back together.”
“I know.”
“So what happens if you let him back in and he does it again?”
“I’m not letting him back in! I ran into him on the street. That’s all.”
She doesn’t look convinced. “Is it?”
I stand up, needing to move, and walk to the window so I can look out at the garden.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then help me understand.”
I turn to face her. “Everyone in this town decided who he was. Troublemaker. Delinquent. Someone who didn’t belong. And they treated him like he was already guilty of something before he ever did anything wrong.”
“Honey—”
“He was seventeen when he first came to town, Mom. Seventeen and homeless and starving. And everyone just … looked away. Teachers saw him fall asleep in class and wrote him up instead of asking if he had somewhere safe to sleep. The principal called him a troublemaker any time he clashed with Dan, instead of calling someone who could actually help him.”
“I didn’t know it was that bad.”
“Nobody did … or if they did, they didn’t care. Because if you actually looked … if you really saw what was happening … then you’d have to do something about it. And it’s so much easier to look away and tell yourself it’s someone else’s problem.”
“That’s not—"
“Fair? No, it’s not.” My voice wobbles. “This whole town failed him. We all did. And when he finally did something desperate, everyone said ‘See? We knew he was bad.’”
“Honey, you can’t save everyone.”
“I wasn’t trying to save him.” I cross my arms, hugging myself. “I was just trying to see him. To treat him like a person who mattered. It wasn’t enough.”
“It nearly destroyed you when he left.”
“He didn’t leave!” I’m shouting now. “He was arrested.”
“I’m sorry. I know. And it was awful. But it’s you I’m worried about now. I know what it cost you when you couldn’t help him.”
“I’m not that girl anymore.”
“No. You’re not. But you still carry her heart.”
The lasagna grows cold on our plates. The wine sits untouched beside them. Outside, the October sun paints everything in shades of gold.
“I should go.” I move past her, grabbing my purse from where I left it on the counter.
“Lily, wait—” She catches my arm. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I just … I remember what it was like.”
“I remember too.”
“Do you?” Her grip tightens. “Because I’m not sure you do. I don’t think you remember how bad it got. How scared I was for you. Just ... be careful. That’s all I’m asking.”
She walks me to the door. “Call me tomorrow?”
“I will.”
“And Lily?” She cups my cheek. “I love you. You know that, right?”
I lean into her palm for just a moment. Then I step back, because if I don’t leave now, I might fall apart completely. “I love you too, Mom.”
The drive home is quiet. I take the long way home, avoiding Main Street and Cedar Street, avoiding anywhere I might accidentally see him. When I reach my apartment building, I park in my spot and stare up at my apartment through the windshield.
If I’m going to survive him being here, I need to face it. I can’t run from it by hiding in lesson plans and movie nights. I can’t pretend that the past doesn’t matter.
Because it does matter.