NINE
Cassie
Present
“Be honest. How embarrassing is it?” I ask my mom, licking the gooey chocolate off my finger.
Mom laughs and snags a marshmallow off the coffee table, dipping it in the melted chocolate and forgoing the graham crackers altogether. “It’s not embarrassing that you moved back home, honey. You need some time to get on your feet, to get your book published.” She glances back at me, her green eyes penetrating mine. A ’90s rom-com was paused on the TV, and suddenly, I was hoping we could get back to it and avoid any other discussion.
“Don’t give me that look.”
“Cassie, I know it’s a sensitive subject.”
“It’s not a sensitive subject,” I defend, reaching for my soda and playing with the tab on top. “I just feel a little stuck.”
Mom knows exactly why I feel stuck, she knows every nasty and sad little detail of my life.
“Well, I’m not going to push. Heck.” She reaches out and grasps my shoulder in a comforting squeeze. “I love having you here. Since Dad died, it’s just been you and me, kid. This house is awfully big for just me.”
Mom’s tone is sad, and I feel bad for not looking after her more. “How are you doing?”
Tonight, Marie and the rest of the staff at Retro Bites were taking over so Mom and I could have some time off.
I graduated college with my master’s and now work at a diner. It was a terribly negative thought, one I would never voice out loud, but I was feeling pretty down on myself.
Down enough that I don’t consider everyone else’s feelings enough.
“I’m all right, you know. I’ve got the diner, but…” Mom’s eyes snap to mine, and she turns to me. “It’s been a long time since your dad died.”
“Yeah,” I agree, thinking back to when I was a little ten-year-old going to fifth grade and coming home to find out my dad had a heart attack. It was sudden and unreal, it felt like one of my vivid dreams, and I spent three days wondering if I was stuck in a dream.
But I wasn’t. I was just stuck in a harsh reality.
“I’ve been alone for a long time,” she continues, holding my hand. “Since you went to college, I’ve been in this house alone.”
“You’re not thinking of selling the house, are you?” I know it was silly. It was just a house, the memories that were made here would live inside of us forever. But the thought of not having this place to fall back on was a scary one.
“No, honey, I’m trying to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
Mom takes a large sigh, big enough that I’m immediately on edge. “I’ve been seeing someone.”
I sit in shock, never expecting my mom to say something like that. “Seeing someone?”
She nods, squeezing my hand tighter. “Yes. His name is George, and he’s in real estate.”
“George…” is all I can think to say.
“Yes, George,” Mom says, turning fully and getting my attention again, a tiny spark igniting in her eyes. “He started coming into the diner about a year ago and asked me out six months ago.”
I smirk a little. “It took him six months to work up the courage, huh?”
A relieved smile spreads across her lips. “I am a little intimidating, you know.”
“Oh, I do,” I say, laughing with her. I see it now—that little gleam in her eye, that flush to her cheeks—that reason for the extra makeup she’s been wearing. Not a lot, just enough to give herself a boost.
“Have I unintentionally met him?”
“Yes, you have. He sat in your section this morning.”
I raise a brow, and then it hits me. “Damn.” I drag the word out, making my mom blush. “Nice one, Mom.”
“Thank you,” she replies shyly.
My heart makes a thud. “Does he treat you well?”
“Oh, honey, you have no idea. He brings me flowers, opens the doors for me, never lets me pay, and listens to me when I talk about dreams and goals and places I want to go.”
I place a hand over my heart, my romantic self swooning over my mom’s love life.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
Her eyes dart away then. “Well, I was going to, right around March, but…”
Oh. Right. I know why she didn’t tell me. “Oh. You shouldn’t have kept it from me, no need to spare my feelings.”
Her expression changes to one of sorrow. “You’ve been pretty bummed out lately.”
I wave a hand, not wanting to talk about it at all, whatsoever. No thank you. “I’m fine.”
“Honey, you’re not.” Clearing her throat, she gives me a stern look. “When is the last time you reached out to an agent, or wrote anything, for that matter? You have something great on your hands, it should be in bookstores across the world!”
“Mom, stop,” I say, waving my hand. “You have to say that because you’re my mother.”
“I’m not the only one who thought it, Cassandra. Lincoln was so proud of your work; he was ready to ask around for you!”
“Mom,” I say, a sternness in my voice that I’ve never directed at her. She blinks in surprise, clearly not expecting that either. Shoot. I hate hurting her feelings. “Sorry.”
For a few moments, we’re quiet.
Then she says, “When was the last time you two spoke?”
My mind flashes back to Mick and Tanner’s engagement party. Mom had been invited, but so many people called in sick that she couldn’t make it. I tried to use work as an excuse as well, not wanting to face him, but she wouldn’t allow it.
“The party.”
“And did you two talk?” she asks softly, in a voice I appreciate but also hate. She was being sensitive to me, knowing that this was a touchy subject.
Seems like everything is a touchy subject anymore.
“Briefly.” That scene in the bathroom hits me—how he held me close, how his voice broke over his words, and his brown eyes watered with concern.
God, I hate this whole situation.
“What happened?”
I shake my head, unable to explain exactly what happened because I’m not exactly sure what did.
“I don’t know, he said he was sorry. That he didn’t mean to hurt me. That he wants to make it up to me.”
“Is that what you want?”
Yes . “I don’t know.”
Mom sighs and pats my knee. “I know you’ve had a hard time since you two went your separate ways, but I have faith everything is going to work out.”
“How?” I ask, disbelief so clear in my voice. How could she believe that after everything that’s happened? How could she have any faith left about the two of us at all?
“I know you’re stubborn, and I’m proud of you for being honest about how you feel about it. But sooner or later, you’re going to have to face this situation. The longer you drag it out, the worse it’s gonna be.”
I bite my tongue, my eyes watering just from the vision in my head of Lincoln’s face—his tortured, gorgeous face.
I hate this.
“I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to act. I—” My words catch in my throat. After a moment, I say, “Forgiving him again feels like giving in.”
My mom sits for a moment, absorbing my confession, the thought that has been on my mind since the beginning.
“Honey, when we love people, the things they’ve done, good, bad, and ugly, feel ten times worse than they are to anyone else. What he did wasn’t good, it wasn’t nice. He absolutely let his emotions get the best of him, but he’s been forgiven by everyone but you.”
“He said some horrible things to me.”
“Because he loves you the most.” Mom shakes her head. “It’s not right, but it’s true.”
“How do I know he’s not going to do it again?”
“Oh, honey.” I turn to look at her, her sad eyes matching my own. “You don’t fully know. But Lincoln is young, he’s emotional. He’s learning exactly how to love you. He just learned early on exactly how to treat you, is all.”
“You mean what not to do?”
She shakes her head. “You may not know this, but I spoke to him a few times on my own. He’s done more behind the scenes for you than you know.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask, setting my soda can down and crossing my arms. “You sound like you’re on his side.”
“I’m on the side that will make my daughter the happiest.”
I swallow roughly and let that penetrate. Just as I open my mouth to say I don’t know what makes me happy anymore, a knock on our old wood door stops me.
“Who could that be?” Mom asks, standing and going over to the door. I can’t see the front door from my spot on the couch, so I listen carefully to see if anyone’s talking.
Mom comes back in a moment later, and I gasp at the basket in her hands. “Wow! George isn’t playing around, huh?”
I smile at my mom and watch her eyes water, looking at me over the rim of the basket that’s filled with flowers, some chocolate, and…a book.
My smile drops slowly. “Who’s that from?”
“You know who it’s from, honey.” She sets the basket down on the coffee table and steps back to look at it.
I point my thumb over my shoulder. “Is he…?”
“No, he was pulling away from the curb when I got there.”
My heart thumps in my chest, and my stomach clenches, just from the mere mention of him being within my vicinity.
I reach out to the basket and grab the book. I gasp when I realize it’s a special edition copy of one of my favorite fantasy novels. I gasp harder when I open the cover and see that it’s signed.
Oh no.
My heart thumps.
“Oh dear,” Mom says, eyeing the book in my hand. “He knows my daughter, that’s for sure.”
Oh god. What do I do?