Love In Magnolia

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Amelia

W hy on earth would she come here?

My mom was capable of a lot of things. I had known her to manipulate most situations in her favour and sabotage my friendships to keep me from spending time with people she deemed a “bad influence”. She’d ruined my ninth-grade birthday party with one of her unpredictable mood swings, which created an emotional atmosphere that stopped the neighbour kids from being allowed to socialise with the Baker kids. Those were only a few examples of many.

She used to make me steal cream cheese from the local grocery store, not because we couldn’t afford it, no, we weren’t exactly strapped for cash. My grandfather on my dad’s side had made sure we were financially comfortable, but my mother insisted I steal a pack once a week on my way home from school because her addictive personality meant she was overindulging when it came to baked goods. Her justification: it was owed to us by the government.

The real reason: she was embarrassed to show her face at the grocery store for a six-month period because she’d been avoiding her spin class and ate almost an entire carrot cake daily, resulting in weight gain she didn’t anticipate.

My mom found out the hard way that carrots didn’t make a cake healthy. I knew it was wrong, but my mom demanded I steal, and at that time she scared me more than any police officer ever could.

Why now?

She’d given me no forewarning. So, I’d missed a few phone calls, precisely eight in two days, and four text messages. Didn’t every child do that when their parents became exhausting?

The problem: Pamela Baker wasn’t used to being ghosted. The term wouldn’t even register in her vocabulary. You simply didn’t ignore Pamela Baker. It was my own fault. I should’ve known she would jump on the first business class ticket she could find, not because she was beside herself, no, spontaneous travel wasn’t to be mistaken with parental concern. I was thirty-one years old, and I’d seen my mother exert a level of parental concern matching normal functioning parents twice.

She came to rescue me from a school trip at two in the morning because I told her some older girls were making fun of me. She didn’t allow me to leave without causing a scene though, accusing the voluntary school chaperones and teachers of negligence and saying they should be fired immediately. It was embarrassing, and the following week the parents at school were notably whispering about the Baker kid with the unstable mother.

After that, I fought with the group of girls who bullied me, falling and breaking my arm on a solid brick wall, which nicely led me on to parental concern 2.0. She allowed me to stay home for a week because she was concerned I might hurt my arm. I couldn’t be sure the unease was purely for the pain her daughter might endure and not the potential I might ruin my arm further and with it any prospect of becoming a tennis star.

Shortly after I had my cast removed, my mom threw a lavish pool party with more entertainment and food options than the Mall of America. She invited everyone in my year but excluded the girls who caused me to break my arm. In her words she was “teaching them a lesson”. It was the talk of school for the next month, cementing the fact that there was always an ulterior motive for everything she did.

What did she want this time?

We continued along the riverbank. I felt a pang of regret that my day with Riley had been cut short.

“You didn’t need to be rude to Riley,” I pointed out.

“You’re right. I will apologise.” Her expression softened slightly.

Huh, that was weird. My mom rarely admitted fault.

“You can’t just ambush me, Mom,” I said.

A flicker of understanding crossed her features.

“I know, it was impulsive, but you wouldn’t allow me to have this conversation over the phone.” Her tone was cool and collected. Years of practice allowed her to change her demeanour in a split second to get the kind of reaction she wanted. I’d seen it before, but this time I was on the receiving end.

“If I’m not answering the phone, it’s because I’m not ready to have a conversation, Mom.”

“But what about your future, Amelia?”

Here we go.

“What about the life we had planned for you in Austin?” she pressed.

“What life?” I scoffed. “I don’t want to be the next desperate housewife of Austin, Mom. I’ve told you that time and time again. ”

“Yes, well you don’t have to be, but your business failed!” Pamela snapped back.

Ouch.

“Wow.”

My mom was great at pretending. The concern in her eyes now wasn’t for my well-being, it was concern for our image as a family. The Baker family was well known in the community we lived in, for good and bad reasons, but we intimidated most. Not me. I was the runt of the family, the disappointment. I was unlikely to carry the powerful Baker name to new heights because I was too soft. I liked to think of myself as compassionate, but according to my grandfather “compassion is weak”. Had it been appropriate to put that on his tomb stone I think he would have.

“I’m sorry, but it’s reality, Amelia. I invested in your business. I gave you the start in life that you wanted, not what I wanted. If I’d have had my way, you’d have continued with tennis.”

“Not this again.” I rolled my eyes.

“It could’ve opened a lot of doors for you, Amelia.”

“I wasn’t good enough! You can’t just be the next Steffi Graf because your mom pays for a famous country club and an expensive set of rackets.”

I didn’t have the relentless passion needed to succeed in a sport like tennis. My mom assumed money could buy anything, but sometimes things required God-given talent and I didn’t have that.

“Why you thought a coffee shop would be a successful business I don’t know. There are big corporations popping up on every street corner with huge campaigns, free drinks, and fantastic branding. How were you ever going to compete with that? ”

It hurt, but it wasn’t the first time I’d felt the venom in her words. I endured the failure conversation for two months after I decided to close my business.

“Your motivation is really overwhelming,” I said, sarcastically.

“It was a pipe dream, Amelia. You’re just like your grandmother.”

It was the first time she’d ever compared me to Caroline Baker. Now I knew more about her, so I didn’t see that as a criticism.

“At least my grandmother had a dream,” I challenged.

“What does that mean?” Her gaze was cold.

“At least she wanted to create something for herself and not just live off inherited money.”

Pamela flinched. It was harsh but true. I had spent my whole life treading on eggshells around my own mom, and I refused to do it any longer.

“You don’t know a damn thing about your grandmother and what she was capable of,” her voice rang out sharply.

“If you’re talking about her affair, I know all about it.” I narrowed my eyes in defiance.

A cruel smile played on her lips. “So, you figured it out?”

“Is that the reason she moved away? You ostracised her, didn’t you?” I challenged.

“Amelia, you don’t know the half of it, so don’t try and tell me what I did or didn’t do.”

Pamela set off walking again. I took long strides to catch up. Caroline Baker triggered my mom in a whole new way.

“I do know. I found hundreds of letters. I know all about Caroline and Frances. I even went to meet Frances myself, so now what I want to understand is your part in all of it.”

Pamela’s jaw clenched. “You did what?”

“I went to see Frances. I wanted to understand their relationship.”

“Frances hasn’t been able to converse for years,” Pamela let slip.

“How do you know that?” I questioned.

She shook her head, dismissive.

“Do you know Frances?” I asked.

“Of course I know Frances. She was my mother’s best friend,” she scoffed. “Well, that’s what I thought.”

“You mean they were lovers?”

Pamela refused to respond.

“Did you push your own mom away because you found out about her and Frances?”

“Oh, how naive you are, Amelia.”

“Explain to me what made you tell your own children that their grandmother was dead? What was it that made you ignore her for almost thirty years and allow her to die alone with no family?” Tears welled up in my eyes. I felt them about to escape, despite my best efforts.

“Don’t,” she snapped.

“No, Mom, tell me. Admit what you did was wrong,” I pushed.

My mother sneered. “Fine. I’ll admit I harboured resentment for my mother for a long time. I blamed her for my father’s death, even though I knew he was oblivious to her extramarital affair. A few years before you were born, I found a letter from Frances. I put two and two together. When I approached her, she made no attempt to deny it.” Pamela sighed.

“Frances attempted to offer her condolences at my father’s funeral. She stood there with her husband and her perfect family; nobody knew, nobody but me. I told Caroline I didn’t want her in my life after that. What she’d done to our family was unforgivable, and I wasn’t about to watch her destroy another one.”

“Did you even attempt to understand it?” I asked.

“What was there to understand? It was very black and white, Amelia.”

“I disagree,” I challenged.

“Of course you do.” Pamela crossed her arms.

“I don’t condone affairs. I think you had a right to be upset, but have you ever thought that Caroline spent her whole existence living for other people? She chose to stick by your dad. She chose to play the dotting wife until the day he died, and even after that. Her and Frances never had the opportunity to be together, initially because of social constraints, but eventually because they had too much loyalty to the families they’d created outside of each other. Have you ever thought maybe the affair she was having was with George and not Frances?”

“She married my father, Amelia. You can’t call that an affair.”

“Yes, but she fell in love with Frances first,” I contradicted. “Think about it. Back then she would’ve been ostracised for being in love with a woman, so she chose a different path. She chose to bury her feelings for Frances and commit her life to George, and she had two wonderful children and spent many happy years married to him, but in the back of her mind there was always Frances and the life she could’ve had with her.”

“What you’re saying is hurtful, Amelia. You’re insinuating she never wanted the life she had with my father. Ultimately, without that life there would be no me or you,” she challenged.

“No, Mom, I’m not saying that. I’m sure she loved you very much. I can sense it in the letters I’ve read. She didn’t regret her choices, but it didn’t make the longing any less agonising in the end. She died alone, without Frances, without you, without George, why? Because she fell in love and then chose to bury that love for her entire life? It doesn’t make sense to me.”

“It’s complicated, Amelia. I don’t expect you to understand because you weren’t around then.”

“What’s complicated about you disowning your own mother?” I retorted.

Pamela’s facade cracked, and for a moment I saw a vulnerable woman behind the harsh exterior I’d grown so accustomed to over the years.

“You don’t understand—” She hesitated.

“Don’t understand what, Mom?” I urged. “Talk to me! Tell me how you really feel!”

Was there a flicker of remorse in her eyes?

“I resented your grandmother and it wasn’t only because of what she did... It was because she reminded me of my own life,” her voice softened.

“I don’t understand.”

“I held a grudge with the wrong person,” she admitted. “I’ve never told you this because I didn’t want you to resent him, but your father, he left me for another woman before you were born.”

My mouth gaped open.

“I found out I was pregnant with you, and he came back. We worked hard at our marriage to fix the shortcomings, but I never truly forgave him, not until I got to a certain age where I felt comfortable in our stability. I blamed my mother for what your father did. I took my frustration out on her because I was so scared of being alone with a newborn child that I was fearful of pushing your father away.”

“Oh.”

My dad cheated on my mom. The sentence repeated itself over and over again, swirling around my brain unwanted. I loved my father. He was the epitome of a family man. He loved me and my brother. He never missed an important event. He was present in our upbringing. He was the one I ran to for advice, not my mom. I’d always painted her as the problem, the over-bearing controlling mother that nobody would choose if given the option, but maybe she had a reason. Maybe, a small part of her parental style made sense to me now.

She was scared .

“You’re not like getting a divorce or anything, right?”

She shook her head ferociously. “No, I love your father very much. We have our moments, but I couldn’t imagine my life without him.”

“Does he...” I stalled. How did I say it without sounding unbelievably rude.

“Does he feel the same?” she finished.

“Well, yeah.”

“Your father made the biggest mistake of his life, and he’s spent the last thirty years making it up to me. He has more than apologized, and I forgave him a long time ago.”

My mom sounded confident in her answer, so I chose to believe her, regardless of whether I would question my father’s increasing work trips. I was often a sceptic.

“Do you feel guilty?” I asked.

My mom turned away. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Are you getting upset?” I asked, shocked.

I wasn’t used to seeing my mom vulnerable. It wasn’t a word I would associate with Pamela Baker, and I had a hard time believing she had genuine feelings. I’d only ever seen theatrical tears from my mother. She was known for putting on a good show. She’d ambushed the principal of my brother’s school at a supermarket to try and plead his innocence when he was due to be expelled for being involved in his third fight of the spring semester. A few crocodile tears from Pamela and a bullshit story about a family bereavement convinced the principal to take a different route.

Pamela swiped at her eyes.

“Mom, I don’t want to see you upset,” I replied, softly.

I placed my hand on her shoulder, but she quickly shrugged me off and continued on the path to God knows where. I’d never been this far along the river.

“I went to see your grandma,” she confessed.

“You did? When?”

“At the hospital, but I was too late. She was almost completely unresponsive by the time I got there. She died two hours later,” she sobbed.

“I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there for her, and I should’ve been,” she choked out between sobs. “I should’ve been there to tell her I made a mistake, that I forgave her. I should’ve been able to tell her I loved her before she passed because I did.”

Her hands started trembling as she pressed them to her face. “I know you don’t believe me. Why would you? I told you she was dead for your whole life, and that was cruel.”

“It was cruel,” I added.

The guilt weighed heavy on her heart. I sensed her internal struggle, and I was surprised at how easily she let her guard slip. Had I been so unaware all these years that I didn’t pick up on the crushing weight on her shoulders?

“She had no idea that I was there. She died lying alone, knowing it was the end, and the last thing she saw was nobody. It breaks my heart every day.” Her words were barely audible above the sound of her own sobs .

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I want her to know I was sorry.”

“She knows,” I reached out to comfort her again. It felt strange, the role reversal. She allowed me to rest a hand on her arm this time. “I’m glad you went to see her, even if it was too late, you still did the right thing.”

Wait—now, it made sense.

“You went to see Frances, didn’t you?” I asked.

She nodded. I recalled her earlier comment about Frances and her inability to converse. She would only know that if she’d been to see her.

“When?”

“Twice a year, every year since my mom died,” she murmured.

“Your girls’ trips to Houston?” I questioned.

It all made sense now. I wondered what was so exciting about Houston that she felt the need to go twice a year.

“At first she recognised me. I got the opportunity to tell her that I was sorry for the way I’d treated my mom.”

“You figured if you couldn’t tell Caroline directly, you’d go to the next best thing?”

“Something like that. I guess a part of me wanted to understand her as well. I became good friends with her attendant at the assisted living home. She helped me arrange times so I wouldn’t bump into her family.”

“They didn’t know?”

She shook her head. “They still don’t know to this day. It would be unfair to divulge the information now. It would benefit no one. I wouldn’t want them to have the last few years with their mom tainted.”

Maybe, there was hope for my mom yet. I had never witnessed her so exposed. My mom didn’t let her guard fall, doing so would make you accessible and therefore susceptible to weakness. Pamela Baker was not weak .

“I’m surprised,” I admitted.

“By which part?”

“All of it. I half expected you to storm into the care home and tell anyone who would listen what Caroline and Frances did.”

“It wouldn’t be out of character.” She smirked, followed by a sniffle as the tears started to dry.

“You didn’t, did you?” My eyes widened. This could still be a trap.

“No, of course not. Although, her daughter is a bit of a know it all, and I would’ve loved to—”

“Mom,” I interrupted.

“Sorry.”

We reached a dead end; a wall of greenery stopped people treading any further.

“Let’s head through here,” I suggested.

We ducked and weaved our way through numerous tangled branches. I glanced back every so often to check my mom was still in tow. The snapping of twigs beneath my feet were only interrupted by a frequent huff of frustration from my mom.

“I’m not sure we should be walking through here, Amelia.”

Probably not in your finest designer attire, I thought.

“Must we traipse through the wilderness?” Her annoyance was amusing to me and considerably more in line with what I expected from Pamela Baker. The vulnerability of our conversation mere moments prior was soon forgotten.

“I didn’t expect it to be so rough. I thought it was a shortcut,” I replied. “Call it an adventure.”

“It’s far from an adventure! Do you even know how to get us out of here, Amelia?”

Minutes passed.

“Erm, surely if we just go back the way we came. ”

It was hopeless. The branches had moulded their way back into place. It was impossible to tell from which way we’d come.

“Seriously? We’re lost, aren’t we?”

I stopped. My mother’s face a true picture of disdain. Her clothes were smudged with dirt. I chose to ignore the leaves stuck in her hair.

“I might have to call, Riley.”

“Don’t call Riley, call the damn police,” she snapped.

“Riley is the police, Mom.”

“Oh, right, well, yes, call her then.”

“Amelia,” I heard my name from a distance.

“Riley?” I called out.

“Amelia.” It had to be Riley. The voice echoed through the woods.

Riley had advised us to stay in one place. The various trails around Magnolia ran for miles. I considered following one pathway to the next, but when I saw a sign for Foley, I knew we were way off track. My mom hadn’t stopped complaining for the past twenty minutes, despite Riley’s speedy response. She flinched at every chirping bird whilst actively scanning the surroundings for a bear. Riley assured us there were rarely any bear sightings in the area. We were more likely to encounter an alligator from the river, which didn’t ease our fears per se, but I figured we could outrun an alligator?

Moments later Riley emerged from the trees. Her short sleeve shirt was stuck to her body. Her beige sheriff’s department baseball cap blocked the sun from her face. She looked good in a hat. There was a determined look in her eyes that made me swell with pride. I pictured her attending the scene of a crime, the veins in her arms popping from the adrenaline, and the muscles in her legs defined through the extremely tight trousers. Were they standard? Or had she shrunk them in the wash? Either way the trousers were a delight to witness. They didn’t have police officers like that back in Austin, certainly none I’d encountered.

“Riley, thank God.” I threw my arms around her shoulders.

“Are you okay?” She took my hand in hers, her grip reassuring.

“She’s fine. I am not,” my mom interrupted. She stood with her hand on her hip and the most aggravated expression on her face. “Can you get us out of here, please?”

“Sure, follow me,” Riley said.

She led the way, as we navigated our way out of the woods. Once we entered the clearing, I recognised our whereabouts.

“Jesus, we were only a few minutes away. I feel silly. I’m sorry,” I apologised.

“Don’t be, you’re not the first person to get off track in these woods, besides, it’s not like I was doing much, just drinking coffee and eating doughnuts.” She winked.

My mom huffed. She stormed to her rental car, the loud knock of her heels stomping against the pavement.

“I’ll go, see you tonight?” Riley asked.

“Of course.” I tiptoed to place a small kiss on her lips.

“FYI, I like you in a hat,” I confessed.

“Noted.”

I caught up with my mom. She was forcefully dusting the dirt off her trousers .

“I don’t have a change of footwear in this car,” she seethed.

“Mom, that’s hardly important, right now,” I said.

“You’re right.” She sighed.

I was? Something was wrong. I was never right.

“Will you come to dinner tonight?” she asked.

“I can’t tonight, Mom. I have plans.”

My plan was to cook dinner with Riley and then melt into her arms whilst watching a film. It was the perfect plan. Simple, but perfect.

“What about tomorrow night?”

“Sure, will it just be us?” I asked.

I didn’t want to force Riley on her. I knew she would take the dinner as an opportunity to try to convince me to return to Austin, hence my reluctance to attend in the first place. My mom didn’t arrange a dinner to “catch up”. She wasn’t the type of parent to want to know about my week, or work, or my non-existent list of hobbies. She only arranged dinner because she wanted it to bring about a certain outcome, and I was yet to fully understand what that outcome was.

“Well,” she said, sheepishly.

“Mom, why are you looking at me like that?” I challenged. “What have you done?”

“I didn’t exactly fly out here alone,” she confessed.

Oh no.

“You didn’t?”

“Mason is here too.”

Fuck.

Mason Williams .

He was arrogant and constantly exuded an air of entitlement and superiority wherever he went. His sandy blonde hair was always perfectly coiffed. His social media feed was filled with photos of him brushing shoulders with politicians, business owners, entrepreneurs, and celebrities alike, but he didn’t belong, and part of his superiority complex came from that insecurity. He could not escape the label stapled to his chest since he was a kid. His wealth was inherited, not earned.

In his late teens and early twenties, he’d had ambitions of travelling the world. He’d tried out for the college football team, despite his slender frame and poor upper body strength. He made people laugh. His sense of humour and his goofy nature had been things to be admired once upon a time.

When he hit twenty-four, he became overwhelmed by the sheer privilege offered to him. He tried to avoid it, set out on his own path, but it wore him down piece by piece until he accepted the role, and soon after he changed completely. He started to flaunt his wealth at every opportunity. He was quick to boast about his expensive possessions and extravagant trips. His lavish lifestyle became his only talking point.

Mason went from a carefree individual with hopes of breaking the mould and escaping from underneath his inherited wealth, to a validation-seeking man who desperately wanted the admiration of those around him. He went from being someone I loved to someone I couldn’t wait to escape.

Oh, he was also my ex-boyfriend.

My ex-boyfriend of ten years who happened to have a share in my coffee business, hence the reason I didn’t stop its failure. I believed I could’ve turned it around, when I took the time to reflect. I simply gave up. I knew I had to climb out from underneath his influence, and my mother’s. Therefore I let it fail. It wasn’t my proudest moment, but when Mason suggested we turn half of my beautiful space into a sports bar I knew I had no other choice.

Technically, Mason was my ex-fiancé. Three years ago, he’d started therapy. He admitted his wrongdoings and his neglect of our relationship. He promised he would do better. He swore that the old Mason would never return. Wealth meant nothing to him. He only cared about me. I saw a change in his behaviour for a few weeks, and then, out of the blue, he proposed. He got down on one knee with a stunning vintage ring, and he asked me to marry him, in a public setting of course. In hindsight, it was the opposite of what I’d described wanting, but I said yes anyway. I should’ve acknowledged the red flags in that moment, but with my entire family and all of my friends in the room I accepted. It was the opening of my café, and Mason made it about him.

We’d separated a month before I took the trip to Magnolia, but in reality, I’d left him years prior. The Mason I knew and loved was no longer present. My mom wasn’t happy with the breakup. She tried on numerous occasions to intervene. She set up romantic secret rendezvous, which I fell for three times before I learnt she couldn’t be trusted.

My mom didn’t like Mason, she just knew she could manipulate him. She knew his family had money. His high status in our town meant something to those who only cared about people’s stature, and my parents fell into that category. She couldn’t wholeheartedly believe he was the right person for her daughter, but his material wealth added serious weight.

The moment I found out Mason was in town I agreed to dinner that evening. I knew he wouldn’t leave until I burst the bubble of whatever crazy crusade he was on. It was a crusade fuelled by my mother, which made it even worse. His arrogance wouldn’t allow him to just walk away, and no doubt Pamela Baker would have filled his mind with an abundance of ridiculous reasons as to why he should try to win me back. I couldn’t trust my own mother, which was a problem.

Riley didn’t know about Mason. She didn’t know he’d been texting me almost every day. The texts went unanswered, but I didn’t tell her, and a part of me felt guilty for the deception by omission. I had no intention of staying in Magnolia when I first arrived, if anything it was a distraction from my disastrous life in Austin. Suddenly, at the age of thirty-one, I had no business, no partner, and quite frankly, I wanted to be as far away from my parents as possible. Magnolia Springs was an escape. I expected it to be short-lived. Then I met Riley, and we discovered my grandma’s love story. From there I became attached to the town.

I assumed Riley sensed my hesitancy whenever the conversation around ex-partners was broached. She didn’t pry, and I admired her more for that. I knew she was a lone wolf to a degree. I had briefly been informed of her promiscuous past, and I figured she didn’t need to know about mine. I wanted to forget.

Now, it felt like a burden, a secret eating me up inside as I walked through the streets of Magnolia toward Cooper’s Diner. Riley was content with me spending the evening with my mom. She’d been called to investigate a crime that turned out to be much more complex than originally thought, so her evening was no longer free. I should’ve felt disappointed, but in honesty it was a relief. I needed to tell Riley about Mason, but I had to get him out of Magnolia first.

I saw the back of Mason’s head as I approached the white picket fences that outlined the outdoor area of Cooper’s. The gate creaked, drawing the attention of those nearby. The hinges slammed the gate forcefully back in place, and with that Mason turned to face me. There was an instant smirk on his face, a smirk I used to love. At least I thought I loved it, until his flashy sports car became more important than me.

He looked different. He looked dishevelled. And not in the way that a cool person with cropped T-shirts, ripped jeans, and surfer hair looked dishevelled. No, he looked like a rich boy who’d been cut off from his inheritance and in response refused to shave or pay his barber the extortionate 600-dollar fee to have his hair cut. His normally coiffed hair was washed, product free, and draping across his forehead. He had an unkept beard, at least a month’s growth, and aside from the expensive watch on his wrist, the rest of his clothes were minimalistic. He actually wore sweatpants. I hadn’t seen Mason wear sweatpants outside of the house for half a decade.

“Hi.” He grinned. “It’s good to see you.”

I nodded in acknowledgment, still trying to understand how my mom had managed to clone Mason Williams because the man stood before me wasn’t him.

“Thank you for coming, Amelia,” my mom said, formally, as though we were business associates attending a meeting .

“Can we get this over with, please?” I said. The words sounded harsh, and I hated the tone in which I delivered them, but it was necessary.

“Amelia, don’t be rude. Mason has come all this way to see you,” my mom stated, as though him flying private for three hours was an achievement likening a climb up Mount Everest. I would’ve been more impressed had he chose to fly economy.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I just want to start by saying I’m sorry.”

I’ve been working on myself.

I go to therapy now.

I’m a different person.

“I have spent a lot of time lately working on myself, and my therapist has really helped me understand who I am, and more importantly what I want in life. I’m trying to become a different person, Amelia, and that’s what brought me here.”

I predicted it because I’d heard it all before, enough times to write a book and sell it to the masses as a self-help step by step guide. I wasn’t about to become the final step in his road to redemption.

“I wish I could say I believe you Mason, but in all honesty, I stopped believing your words a long time ago.”

“I know, and you have every right to doubt me, but I have changed. I swear,” he pleaded.

“How?” I asked sharply.

“What do you mean?”

“How have you changed?” I repeated. My voice laced with scepticism.

“Well, I’ve been to therapy... And I didn’t go on our annual family trip to Dubai, and... I stopped spending so much money on unnecessary things,” he fumbled.

“That’s what you’ve done, but how have you actually changed? I’m curious,” I challenged.

Mason started fidgeting in his chair, and his eye contact wavered. He didn’t expect me to challenge him. The confrontation made him uncomfortable because he wasn’t used to it coming from me.

“Well, I’m not selfish anymore.” He proudly pushed his chest forward.

“Oh, just like that? One day you’re selfish, the next day you’re not?”

“No, I’m sure I can still be selfish, but I just realised I was becoming very entitled, so I’m trying,” he sounded unsure of himself.

Becoming very entitled was an understatement. He was the mayor of entitled. I narrowed my eyes, totally unconvinced by his words.

“Actions speak louder than words, Mason.”

“Oh, don’t berate him, Amelia. He wants to make amends,” my mom interrupted.

Of course she was on his side.

“I don’t believe it, Mason,” I said, my tone firm.

He sighed.

“I donated to charity!” He chirped.

“What charity?” I questioned.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, actually it does matter.”

“It was . . . erm . . . one my dad supports. I don’t recall the full name.”

“So, you didn’t donate to charity, you just told your dad not to give you your allowance this month, and he no doubt invested it back into his multi-million dollar corporation as opposed to doing something meaningful with it,” I scoffed. He didn’t deny it.

“Your efforts are quite impressive,” I said, sarcastically.

“Amelia!” my mom snapped. “Do you have to be so rude? I didn’t raise you that way.”

Actually, Pamela, you taught me every undesirable quality I have. Is what I wanted to say.

“You’re right, I haven’t done much at all, but I want to,” Mason admitted. I could’ve sworn he sounded regretful.

I studied Mason for a moment, considering my next words carefully. I wanted to hound him and question his every intention, purely for the years I’d spent willing him to change, only for him to take zero notice of my wants or needs. If he could feel even a fraction of pressure, maybe he’d understand what it felt like to be the one constantly having to find excuses for his behaviour.

The years we spent together weren’t all bad, but I spent the second half of our relationship answering to anyone who encountered him. My family, my friends, his work colleagues, his business associates, whenever they had a problem with Mason and his attitude or his work ethic, I was the one that made the excuses. I was the one that pleaded with him to change, to no avail.

“There’s really no point in us going back and forth like this, Mason. I really hope you continue on this journey, and I hope you’re sincere in your desire to change, but I can’t be a part of it,” I said.

He nodded solemnly. “I understand.”

Silence followed.

Was that it? He gave up easier than I anticipated.

“Seriously, Mason?” my mom yelled.

The sudden outburst caught us both off guard .

“You had one job, to come here and win her back, and you were too incompetent to prepare adequately.”

“Prepare?” I interrupted.

“Do you think he came here of his own accord? He was too busy drinking his way into the hearts of every politician in Austin.”

“You gave him a script?”

“I wouldn’t call it a script. I advised on the best way he could win you back should he come to his senses and choose to do so,” she exclaimed, the frustration in her voice obvious now.

“I tried,” Mason stammered. Like everyone else, he felt the wrath of Pamela Baker.

My mom shook her head in disbelief.

“Unbelievable. We’re done here,” she asserted, her tone unwavering.

“I can’t believe you would do that. What kind of mother forces her daughter’s ex-fiancé into winning her back? After everything you know about our relationship and how miserable I was.”

I felt frustrated, but also embarrassed. I didn’t need to be embarrassed in front of Mason. He knew all about my mother and her callous ways, but I couldn’t help it. My earlier breakthrough regarding Caroline and Frances was a distant memory now.

My mom was not appeased, and when her disappointment turned to anger there was no way of talking her down.

“Amelia, you will never understand because you’re not a parent. I will always do what’s right for you,” she expressed.

“But you’re not, you’re doing the complete opposite!” I challenged .

“What’s right for you isn’t always what you want, Amelia,” she seethed.

She got up, retrieved her bag from the back of the chair, and shot off towards the exit, narrowly missing Cooper as he attempted to deliver our drinks.

“Wow.” I stared in disbelief at the back of my mother’s head as she climbed into her rental car and sped away. She’d be on the next flight back to Austin where she could conjure up her next delusional plan.

“Can I apologise?” Mason asked.

“I think we’re done here.” I attempted to stand up, but he reached for my hand.

“Please? At least eat your food?”

The food did look good. Cooper killed it again with his famous shrimp and grits. The smell made me think twice about leaving the food behind.

“You were conned into trying to win me back by lying through your teeth, Mason. I don’t want to sit here and have dinner with you.”

“I know, and I am sorry. I know you’re better off without me, Amelia. It was hard to let you go, but if I was an outsider looking in, I’d tell you to run a mile. I am no good for you, and I knew it all along, I just selfishly waited for you to see it. I gave you no choice but to leave. I want you to know I don’t blame you. In fact, I think what you’ve done, coming out here, it’s really brave.”

I struggled to take him seriously with his two-inch beard. Mason was far from his usual pristine self, and yet he’d just said the most genuine thing he’d ever said .

“See, now, you’re confusing me because that’s the most honest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

I was rooted in place. I wanted to leave, but I also felt bad for Mason. He, too, had been manipulated by Pamela.

“I surprised myself.” He smirked.

“I know I’m an asshole, and nothing I say will ever take back the years of hurt I put you through, but at least sit with me and let us have one meal where I don’t talk about myself the whole time?”

“I don’t know.” I hovered.

“Please, let me at least try and convince you I’m not the worst person in the world?”

“I don’t think you’re the worst person in the world, Mason.”

“Top ten?”

“Top five,” I joked, and for the first time that evening, I smiled. I couldn’t remember the last time I smiled or laughed in Mason’s presence.

He nudged the cutlery towards my plate.

“C’mon, for old times’ sake,” he soothed.

“Fine, but this is only because Cooper’s shrimp and grits are the best in the whole of Alabama.”

It was the only reason, and I would testify to it in a court of law.

Mason grinned. I could just about see his pearly white teeth through the gaps in his overgrown beard. He put his fingertips in what would’ve been Pamela’s glass of water, soaking his hand so he could tactfully brush his hair back from his face, and I laughed, I actually laughed out loud. Mason hadn’t been funny since his goofy post-college days. Nowadays, he was either blind drunk, depressingly sober, or a complete asshole. Just for a moment I remembered who he had been, and it was bittersweet.