Chapter 28
The Confession
Nate
I never understood why people thought Andrzej was a pain in the ass until now.
It was supposed to be Robyn and me driving from Chicago to Rockton. Just us. Long stretch of highway, coffee, and audiobooks. Maybe, if I got lucky, in-person conversation.
Somehow, my plan to get together with Andrzej for an hour after dropping Robyn off with Julian and Milo before we headed for the Illinois–Wisconsin border turned into Andrzej never leaving my side.
The minute I told him Robyn and Tessa would both be at my mom’s retirement party, he insisted on coming, couldn’t miss it.
My mother would be “devastated.” From the man who hadn’t shown the slightest interest when I mentioned it the first time.
Now, he’s riding shotgun in the rental, talking animatedly while Robyn twists in her seat to face him, knees tucked, absorbing everything about these freaking Polish pastries Andrzej brought along.
“Wait,” Robyn says, shifting forward so fast the seatbelt tugs across her shoulder, and her mouth drags to a smile. “You bake these? Like … yourself?”
Andrzej nods proudly, a faint pink warming his cheeks. “Of course. My babcia taught me. Every Christmas, Easter, birthdays—any excuse, really. She said store-bought pastries are for people who’ve given up on joy.”
“How did I not know this?” Robyn asks.
“Where did you think those p?czki came from?” Andrzej says. “Kasia’s deli?”
“Or Roeser’s,” she says. “I figured Nate bought them.”
I exhale through my nose and tighten my grip on the steering wheel. Right. Because that sounds like me. I’d buy coffee or p?czki, drop them off, get a pat on the back.
“Uh-huh,” Andrzej says, grinning. “That was me.”
Robyn laughs, sharp and disbelieving. “Are you serious?”
He pats my shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell her those were homemade?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
I do know, though. Ever since meeting Robyn, time with her always felt scarce, and I became …
protective of it. I didn’t want Andrzej’s baking stories—my friends, my life outside her—to intrude.
So I drew a line. Robyn on one side. Everyone else on the other.
Mom was the only exception. She was my only family, and I wanted Robyn folded into it.
Andrzej answers Robyn, oblivious. “Yeah. I also make ko?aczki, faworki, and karpatka.”
“You’re a full-blown baker.” She leans forward and slaps his shoulder. “One of those are the angel-wing-looking things, right?” She gestures, hands kneading the air. “How do you get them that crispy?”
Andrzej launches into an explanation—oil temperature, timing, patience. I nod absently, pretending the conversation isn’t crawling under my skin.
I’m jealous. Not of dough. That would be just dumb. She used to relax around me like this—before I threw it away because I didn’t feel needed. And instead of talking about it, I cheated.
I’m a fucking cheater. Like the one person I swore I’d never become.
I change lanes a little too sharply, the car jerking.
Focus, Nate. It’s just pastries. Gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary, I force my eyes back to the road and away from the seat next to me that should’ve been hers.
“So,” Andrzej says, undeterred, “where should I book for the next two nights? Your mom’s house isn’t big, right?”
“It’d be best. Mom—”
“Nate, you know Rebecca’s not going to let Andrzej go to a hotel. And if there isn’t enough space, it makes sense I’m the one elsewhere.”
“You’re not going anywhere. You’re already traveling for my mom.”
“So … slumber party?” Andrzej asks.
I think for a second. “Robyn, you’ll take my room. Andrzej, you can have the futon in the office.”
“And you?” Robyn asks, glancing at me.
I shrug. “Couch.”
Andrzej hums, amused. “Great plan. Can’t fucking wait for the evening.”
“You’ll behave.” I glance at him. “This is for my mom, dude.”
“When have I ever not behaved?”
Robyn chuckles, but it fades as she turns toward the window. She knows I hate sleeping on couches and has dragged me to bed so my neck wouldn’t ache in the morning. Once to the bed she’ll be sleeping in tonight. Without me.
Whatever fragile balance I’d hoped to accomplish on this trip, is already out of reach. And we’re not even staring into the debris of our relationship.
Applause crashes into the silence when my mom steps into the multipurpose room of my old high school, red hair pinned back but streaked with white she doesn’t bother hiding.
The outdated lighting, something from the last renovations in the late nineties, brings more attention to it than I know she’d cared for.
Mom smiles, sweeping her blue eyes over retired teachers and alumni who look much older than me.
She’s taking attendance one last time, breathing it all in—her life’s work.
Then her gaze lands on Robyn and me standing together, and her smile’s the tiniest bit bigger.
“Thank you,” she says, lifting a hand. She’s half laughing, cheeks flushed. “Everyone, please sit. This isn’t a pep rally.”
A path opens through the crowd toward the head table. I give Mom a small nod, planted between Robyn and Andrzej, while she moves toward her reserved seat at the center of the head table with her admin team and a district rep I’d bet money she already hates.
She stops in front of us and pulls Robyn and me into a hug. It’s the closest I’ve been to Robyn since we were together. Mom even pats Andrzej on the head. She isn’t half annoyed that he crashed my trip—he’s a particularly lovable dog.
Teachers I recognize from my childhood sit shoulder to shoulder with alumni who look much older than me, some with their kids squirming in their laps.
Folding chairs scrape as people stand. Someone whistles.
Someone else shouts her name. Everyone’s waiting for her, and she doesn’t care.
That’s my mom. Everything happens on her terms.
“Hey, Nate.”
Tessa’s standing next to Mom now. Blonde hair immaculately straightened and falling on one side. Her gaze demands someone’s undivided attention, and once, being that person made me feel important.
Now, I just want to see my mom shine, and I don’t owe Tessa anything.
Her smile tightens when I don’t answer. “I reserved a spot for you at your mom’s table.” She tilts her head toward the front. “I’m sitting there too. We could sit together.”
I shake my head. “Last we spoke, I told you I’d make your life hell. I didn’t mean my life hell by sitting next to you, Tess.”
She rolls her lips inward, and the skin around them turns slightly paler. “There’s no room elsewhere.” Her voice sharpens, but she softens it quickly. “Yes, things were strained when I had to leave Chicago, but … I really need you. I’d be so bored without you.”
I glance at Andrzej. “You cool taking my seat? Keeping my mom and Tessa company?”
His grin spreads slowly and wickedly. “Oh, I’d be delighted. I hear they’re serving a very dry sauvignon blanc.” He lowers his voice, stage-whispering, “I’ll make sure the conversation flows. No awkward tumbleweeds rolling through.”
The color drains from Tessa’s face.
“Come along, dear,” my mom says, already looping an arm through Andrzej’s. She reaches for Tessa next, steering them away from Robyn and me, winking. “Andrzej will keep the jokes coming so you don’t get bored.”
“But, Rebecca—”
My mom doesn’t even slow down. “It’s Mrs. Leighton to you, dear.”
After they cart the buffet table away, the microphone screeches once.
At the podium stands the new principal, a guy in his mid-forties with neatly parted salt-and-pepper hair.
He keeps nudging his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
He’s loosened his tie—The Legend Has Retired still visible in the embroidery—and rolled his sleeves to the forearms, the universal signal for I’m approachable but in charge.
Then he does one of those teacher moves I know so well. He cocks his hip and says, “I’m still waiting on three-to-five voices in the back. Please and thank you.”
It makes me feel like I’m about to be scolded in my Technical Drawing class. Robyn chuckles, her gaze flicking to mine.
His voice comes back warm and practiced. “If you don’t know me, I’m Ruben Fletcher. I’ll be stepping in as principal now that Mrs. Leighton is off to different ventures.”
Polite applause ripples through the room. Robyn shifts beside me, her knee brushing mine, attention fully forward.
“When Rebecca was first given my name as her replacement for the principalship,” Fletcher says, smiling faintly, “I’m told she wasn’t exactly pleased.”
A ripple of laughter moves through the room.
“She had opinions.” He taps the podium once, deliberate. “And she made it very clear that this school wasn’t something you simply take over.”
Teachers murmur in agreement. A few alumni nod. All I can see, though, is how he doesn’t quite manage to look away from my mom when he says it.
“She’s been a mentor to me in ways I didn’t expect,” Fletcher says.
“This school is better because of her.” His eyes shift with a touch of warmth.
“I can say this with certainty: whatever I do here, will be with Mrs. Leighton’s voice on my left and right shoulder.
” His eyes find hers again. “And I don’t expect that to ever change. ”
The applause this time is louder. Sustained. My mom holds his gaze a beat longer than necessary before she finally nods. She looks moved.
Fletcher lets the noise crest, then claps his hands together once. “Now—Rebecca specifically asked that this not turn into a somber farewell. So we’re going to”—he glances down at a clipboard—“have a little fun—town-hall style.”
Groans and cheers mix. Robyn smiles despite herself.
“Our very own Tessa is going to take us through the game portion of the evening. Let’s give her a round of applause for fundraising for tonight’s event.”
Tessa straightens at the head table, smiling and composed. She steps up beside Fletcher, one hand resting lightly on the podium. Basking.