Chapter Fifteen #2
“See?” she says. “Just like that.”
I stab at my salad with my fork, trying to act casual. “It’s nothing.” I sigh. “It’s complicated.”
Mom’s eyes soften, but her voice stays steady.
“Most things worth figuring out are.” She takes a bite of her sandwich, chews, swallows.
“Just… be honest with yourself, at least. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.
But if you’re avoiding him to make yourself feel better, and it’s not working, maybe it’s time to rethink the plan. ”
I busy myself with folding a piece of flatbread over more cheese, pretending I’m deeply invested in the perfect bite. “We slept together,” I murmur so quietly she barely hears me.
She leans in. “What’s that?”
Heat rushes to my face, and I keep my eyes glued to my plate. “I said, we slept together.”
For a moment, there’s nothing but the clink of her plate as she sets her sandwich down. Then—calmly, like she’s confirming the weather—she says, “Ah.”
I risk a glance up. She’s not gawking or gasping, not even frowning. Just studying me with that sharp, unreadable mom look that somehow sees more than I want it to.
“It was a mistake,” I add quickly, words tumbling over each other. “We… it just happened, and then we both agreed it shouldn’t happen again. And now it’s… awkward.”
Her brows lift the tiniest bit. “A mistake, huh?”
“Yes,” I say firmly, though my voice feels too tight.
She tilts her head, resting her chin on her hand. “Was it a bad mistake?”
I blink at her. “What kind of question is that?”
“The kind where I’m trying to figure out if you regret the fact that it happened… or the fact that you can’t stop thinking about it.”
I drop my gaze again, tearing off a piece of crust. “It’s complicated,” I repeat, quieter this time.
“That’s not an answer,” she says gently. “Look, I know you’ve got the bakery and a million things on your plate. I also know you. When you really don’t care about something, it doesn’t linger. And this? It’s lingering.”
I lift a piece of the flatbread, then set it down again. “He said it was a mistake.”
And once again, she says, “Ah.”
“He freaked out about Jason finding out and said it never should’ve happened.” I swallow, fighting back the tears I’ve refused to let fall. “Like one minute after. I was barely dressed.”
Mom’s expression softens, the kind of softness that feels like it might unravel me if I’m not careful. She reaches across the table, resting her hand over mine. “Oh, honey.”
I shake my head quickly, blinking hard. “I told him it was fine. That we could pretend it never happened. And I meant it— at least, I thought I did. But now…” My voice wavers, and I clear my throat. “Now it’s like I can’t stop replaying it in my head, and I hate myself for caring.”
“You don’t hate yourself,” she says, squeezing my fingers. “You’re hurt. There’s a difference. And you should be hurt. That was a really shitty thing for him to say to you.”
I blink away the tears. Mom never swears. I mean, never. So to hear her say that is such a shock.
“You’re human, sweetie,” she continues. “It’s all right to feel things. And it’s all right to be angry with him. You have every right to be angry at him for that. Especially because you weren’t the only one involved. It takes two to tango.”
I let out a shaky laugh, more from nerves than anything. “Yeah, well, I feel like an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot,” she says firmly, giving my hand another squeeze. “Did you want it to happen?”
“No.” I sigh. “Well, yes… and no. I don’t know. I wanted it, but I knew it couldn’t… I just don’t know, Mom. I don’t know how to feel, and I don’t know what I want.”
I stare down at the table, my throat tightening again. “It just… it felt good. Right. And for a second, I thought maybe…” I trail off, shaking my head. “Doesn’t matter what I thought. He made it very clear.”
Her voice softens. “It matters to you. That’s the whole point. You can tell yourself it’s nothing, but your heart clearly didn’t get the memo.”
I press my lips together, trying to keep from falling apart right here in the middle of a sunny café. “I don’t want him to know he hurt me. I don’t want him to have that kind of power.”
“That’s not power,” she says. “That’s being human. You can be hurt and still keep your dignity. You can be hurt and still move on. But pretending you feel nothing? That’s just dragging it out longer.”
I sigh, leaning back in my chair. “So what do I do?”
She smiles faintly. “You decide what you want. Then you do it. Sweetheart, I love your brother, but he’s as oblivious as they come.”
I frown at her. “What do you mean?”
Mom leans back, picking up one of her fries and twirling it between her fingers like she’s deciding whether to eat it or make a point with it.
“I mean, that what’s obvious to other people isn’t to him.
The boy wouldn’t notice a thunderstorm if he were holding an umbrella.
If you want to keep it to yourself, you can.
But if you want to try to sort things out with Ben, Jason’s not going to be the obstacle you think he is. ”
I shake my head, a humorless little laugh slipping out. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It’s not simple,” she says, taking a bite of the fry. “It’s never simple when feelings are involved. But right now you’re letting fear make the decisions for you. Fear of what Jason might say, fear of what Ben already did say, fear of getting hurt worse than you already are.”
She swallows, setting the fry down. “That’s not you, Paige. You’ve never been afraid of hard work. Why would you be afraid of this?”
I look at her, wanting to argue, but the words don’t come. She’s not wrong. I can face down broken ovens, bad health inspections, and impossible deadlines. But this? This is different. This is my heart.
“I don’t even know if I want to fix it,” I admit quietly. “Part of me just wants to… forget it happened.”
“Then do that,” she says simply, but her gaze stays steady. “But if you can’t forget—and you clearly can’t—you owe it to yourself to deal with it. One way or another.”
The server swings by to check on us, and we both murmur that everything’s fine. I force myself to take another bite of flatbread, though my appetite’s mostly gone. Mom lets the silence hang for a minute, sipping her water, but I can still feel her attention on me.
“I’m not telling you to run over there and pour your heart out,” she says finally. “I’m telling you to be honest— with yourself first. Figure out if you’re more hurt because of what he said, or because you wanted it to mean something and it didn’t. Once you know that… then you’ll know what to do.”
I push a piece of tomato around my plate, nodding slowly. “And if what I want is to punch him in the face?”
Her mouth quirks. “Well, your father may be retired, but he’s still a damn good lawyer.” We both laugh. “Though I’d recommend starting with a conversation first.”
And just like that, I can breathe a little easier. But deep down, I know lunch isn’t going to change the fact that sooner or later, I’m going to have to face him. And I’m not ready for that. Not yet.