Chapter 41
Blake
I’m already on edge as I walk toward the restaurant, my mind replaying all the recent arguments with Ethan, the way our relationship has soured, while wondering why it is he wants to meet. How is it possible to love someone so much and for them to drive me so damned crazy?
I really love him, like right down to the very marrow in my bones, and that’s what makes it all so much harder. Anyone else, and I’d have walked away by now. But it’s Ethan . If I’m completely honest with myself, part of me wants to let him in, but I know I have to keep him at a distance, remain firmly on my own two feet…
But he won’t accept that. And the more he pushes, and the more I accommodate him and let him in, the more I risk losing myself when things blow up in my face. Ugh . Why does love have to be so hard?
Pushing the door open, I glance around the busy restaurant and stop. Ethan sits at a table with my moms, and even from here, tension radiates off them. My heart stops in my chest before taking off at a sprint, the air suddenly too thick to take a proper breath. The door handle is the only thing keeping me upright as I take in the scene. What the hell is going on?
This isn’t a simple lunch—it’s a powder keg waiting to explode.
For a fleeting second, I fight the urge to just turn around and pretend I was never here so I don’t have to come face-to-face with everything that’s wrong with my family. But they’re all looking at me now, waiting, and there’s no turning back.
A hard swallow forced over the ache in my throat. I don’t know what’s going on, or why Ethan invited me to this lunch, but looking at the way my moms are sitting on opposite sides of the table, tense expressions on their faces, I honestly can’t think of anything worse.
My feet move on their own, carrying me across the room, around tables set with linens, familiar faces passing in a blur. With every step closer, the sick feeling in my stomach gets worse.
“Hi,” I say, leaning down to kiss Ethan on the cheek. His lips brush my skin, and when we briefly make eye contact, he gives me a look filled with regret and a silent apology.
I turn to my moms, giving them both quick, tight hugs, my movements stiff, mechanical. I’m on autopilot, just going through the motions so I can survive this. Sitting down on the wooden chair, hands clasped in my lap, my fingers digging into my palms.
The waiter approaches our table with a smooth, practiced grace that comes from years of navigating a busy restaurant floor. He’s tall and lean, with neatly combed dark hair and a crisp white shirt topped by a deep burgundy waistcoat. There’s a polite smile on his face, but his eyes have a sharp, observant quality.
He looks between us. “Are we ready to order?”
I reach for the laminated menu in the center of the table, trying to focus on the words printed there. The dishes barely register as I skim through them.
Mama Charlotte orders after Ethan, sitting stiffly in her chair, her oversized knitted sweater draping over her frame like a protective shield. Her dark coiled hair, cropped shorter than last time I saw her, is flecked with strands of gray that match the storm brewing in her eyes.
As the waiter moves to Mom, Mama Charlotte keeps her gaze focused on the table, her fingers occasionally fidgeting with the hem of her black skirt. Now and then, she glances up.
On the surface, Mom looks a little more relaxed as she orders the salmon pasta special, but there’s tension in her shoulders. Her light cardigan is pulled tightly around her, while the neat bun that pulls back her gray-streaked hair makes the lines of worry on her face look even deeper, and she keeps one hand in her lap, the other hand at the edge of the table, fingers tapping the surface lightly.
The space between the two of them is charged, filled with unspoken words and emotions, and enough hurt to last several lifetimes.
The waiter finally turns his attention to me, pen poised to take my order.
“Um… I think I’ll just go with…” I finally just pick the first thing my eyes settle on, blurting it out. “…The grilled chicken salad, please.”
He nods, jotting it down. “And something to drink?”
“Just water will be fine. Thanks.” My voice sounds distant, detached, like it belongs to someone else.
The waiter leaves, and silence follows. Ethan’s gaze is on me, but I can’t look at him. And my moms… God, it hurts to see them like this, sitting at the same table but so far apart, both physically and emotionally. I haven’t seen them together in months.
I want to ask Ethan what the hell is going on, but I don’t want him or my moms to know how much this is tearing me apart. I don’t want them to see that I’m not as strong as I’ve been pretending to be, that I can’t handle everything that’s thrown at me. So I stay quiet, my eyes fixed on the table like this is all just fucking great .
The awkward silence stretches, Mom’s fingers still tapping on the edge of the table. It’s probably only been ten seconds, but it feels like ten hours. My eyes flicker between my moms, both of them sitting there like strangers who don’t know how to start a conversation, then at Ethan, who’s looking between the three of us.
This is killing me. We used to be so close, the three of us against the world. Now, it’s like there’s this invisible wall between us, and I don’t know how to tear it down.
Mom clears her throat, looking at me. “Ethan mentioned you’ve been under some stress lately. Is everything okay, sweetie?”
“Everything’s fine.” I shoot Ethan a look, and he glances away. I really wish he hadn’t said anything to my moms.
Three sets of eyes are on me, waiting for me to say more. I glance down at the table, tracing the wood grain with my gaze. “I mean, there’s just the usual stuff with the Tavern and the cleanup. But it’s all under control. None of you need to worry.”
“You’ll let us know if you need a break, won’t you?” Mama Charlotte says, leaning forward. “We can hire a manager at any time.”
“I’m really fine, I promise you. I love working at the Tavern, you know that.” I look up and take in the familiar planes of her face—the woman who insisted on reading to me before bed well into my teen years, who always made me feel safe and loved.
The woman who left.
My mind goes back to how things used to be—how Mama Charlotte would always sit next to Mom at the kitchen table, how they would share little smiles and hold hands, how they’d finish each other’s sentences like they were in tune with each other’s thoughts.
Now, they’re sitting across from each other, an ocean of distance between them after Mama Charlotte’s big mistake, and I’m stuck in the middle, pretending everything’s okay when it’s not.
I swallow hard, trying again to push down the lump in my throat. I wish they’d just talk about everything. I wish they’d remember how good it used to be, how we were a team, and heal all the brokenness between them.
Ethan shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and gives me another apologetic look, like he knows this lunch is destined to spiral out of control, but he’s not sure how to stop it. He clears his throat. “So, Charlotte, how are you finding Philly?”
Mama Charlotte’s lips press into a thin line, and she gives a curt nod. “It’s fine. Busier than Harbor’s Edge.” She doesn’t offer anything more.
Mom takes a sip of her drink. “Philadelphia must be nice. A big change from here.” Her expression hardens. “I suppose busy is what you wanted. Maybe you found everything here too quiet, too familiar.”
Mama Charlotte’s eyes flash with something—anger, maybe hurt—and she lifts her chin slightly. “Well, I think we both needed some space, don’t you?”
Ethan glances between them, and it’s clear even he’s feeling out of his depth. “Uh, well, Harbor’s Edge isn’t exactly quiet these days, not now the cleanup is mostly done. Quite a lot of tourists are coming back.”
Mom forces a smile, but it’s brittle. “Yes, I’ve heard business is picking up again. You and the Valiant Hearts boys have been doing a lot of good work. We’re all very grateful.”
“Just doing what we can,” he says, but a muscle ticks in his jaw. He’s trying to keep this from falling apart, but it’s like watching a car crash in slow motion.
Mama Charlotte leans back in her chair, her arms crossing over her chest. “I’ve actually got a business meeting to get to this afternoon. It was a lovely idea to get together for lunch, but I’ll need to go soon.”
“The food should be here any minute,” Ethan says, looking around for a waiter. “Let me check.”
Mom is staring at Mama Charlotte. “A business meeting. Is that what you’re calling her these days?”
Mama Charlotte looks up. “Are we really going to do this here? Now?”
Mom’s eyes narrow, and her voice drops. “Do what? Acknowledge the elephant in the room? The fact that you stepped out of our marriage, have met someone else, and are moving on?”
As their voices rise, the emotions I’ve been trying to suppress gather in strength. How could they do this—how could they let things get so bad? The words I want to say are stuck in my throat, and all I can do is sit there, feeling like that scared little girl again, the one who just wanted her dad but instead got moved from foster home to foster home until these women saved me. And now they’re tearing each other apart right in front of me, and I can’t do anything to stop it.
Ethan gives me another look, this one more desperate, as if silently asking if he should step in. But there’s nothing he can do: this has been simmering for too long, and now it’s finally boiling over.
“Let it go,” Mama Charlotte says. “Not here.”
“I can’t just let it go, damnit,” Mom snaps, her voice rising. She quickly catches herself, forcing her tone back to one of strained politeness. “But it’s pretty clear talking about us is not what you want. You’ve given up fighting for us.”
Mama Charlotte’s eyes soften for a brief moment. “I did want us , Trudy. I wanted it for a long time. But things change...”
“Spare me the but ,” Mom interrupts, her voice flat. “I’ve heard it all before.”
I glance at Ethan, who’s staring at the table. Without warning, Mom pushes back her chair and stands.
“I think I’ve lost my appetite,” she says coldly, grabbing her purse. “It was nice to see you, Ethan, and I’m sorry I can’t stay. I’ll catch you at home, Blake.”
She doesn’t look at Mama Charlotte, doesn’t even acknowledge her as she turns and walks out of the restaurant. Mama Charlotte watches her go. Then she shakes her head, and stands as well, her gaze locked on me.
“I’m sorry. This was a mistake. Look, I need to talk to your mom.” She gives me a quick, almost apologetic look before turning and walking out.
As I watch them go, the old familiar ache of being left behind swells in my chest, choking me with its intensity. I want to scream, to run after them and beg them to stay, but I’m frozen in place, the pain too overwhelming. It’s not just that they fought: it’s that deep, gnawing feeling of abandonment creeping up from the darkest corners of my mind, clawing its way back to the surface.
The same feeling that haunted me through foster care, that came back when Danny died. When I found out about my dad’s overdose.
When I rely on others too much, they leave.