Chapter Twenty
“My worst quality? Uh . . . probably communicating, I guess. It’s hard to get the words out, unless I put them in a song. Life’s easier when I’m singing.”
—Jake Moody on Robin’s Radio
I told Mom everything. How worried I was we’d lose the café. Why I wrote Jake. How I didn’t know if we’d make it to fall if my US plan didn’t work and how I just wanted to be there to ease her worries while she was hurt, not add to them.
I’m sorry, I found myself repeating. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
“Oh, honey,” Mom exclaimed, pulling me into a hug after I finished spilling my heart out. “None of this is on you. Absolutely none of it.”
“But—”
“No, no buts. Summer attendance is always low—you’ve seen that every summer of your life.
Espresso Inc would’ve opened even if I’d been there and never hurt my leg,” Mom said firmly.
“You being in charge of the café didn’t cause any problems. You’ve always been so sensible and focused, sometimes I forget you’re still a teenager.
” Mom smiled fondly. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize what you were going through, Lucy.
I’m going to be asking you more questions from now on about how you’re dealing with things, even when you say you’re fine.
And I’m sorry for not telling you about the medical bills. No secrets from now on, okay?”
“Okay,” I promised. It felt like a relief—there had never been so many miscommunications between us before.
“And I need you to know you’re doing amazing,” Mom continued.
I rolled my eyes up to the ceiling to stop more tears from coming out. Yeah, right. We were in danger of losing the café, but I was doing amazing. “Sure.”
“You are,” Mom said, in that firm way of hers that left no room open for argument. “You’ve kept the doors open. You’ve kept the cats safe. I mean, hey, you got together a livestream with one of the biggest bands out there, Lucy. That’s incredible, and you need to give yourself credit, okay?”
“I’ll try.”
She squeezed my hand. “I’m going to keep reminding you of how awesome you are, but,” she continued, “we’re also going to discuss why you didn’t tell me you felt so sick this morning. I’d never have asked you to open the café if I’d known.”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” I protested. My unrepentant gaze met my mother’s unimpressed one. “Mom, I know how important the café is to you. I didn’t want to let you down. I had to be there for you.”
It was more than just Mom, though. I wanted to pull through for the cats.
So many were left behind by people who were supposed to be there for them.
They got the cats as kittens when they were tiny and cute, and then got tired of them when they got older.
Or dumped them when they realized they took too much work or too much time.
Sure, they liked them, but they didn’t love them. Not enough to stick around.
“That’s why I’m thinking about not going to college either,” I blurted out.
No more secrets, right?
Mom’s eyes widened, her hold on my hand going slack. “What?”
“Please don’t be mad,” I begged.
“No, honey, I’m not mad,” she promised. “Just confused. You’ve been a study machine for years to get a good scholarship.
You even entered that state spelling bee four years ago because you said winning might look good on an application!
You were so determined to not have a single flaw they could use to deny you.
Did you change your mind about becoming a vet? ”
“No, I still want to,” I answered instinctively, the confession slipping out faster than I anticipated. “I’m just scared that finally taking the next step toward it will mean . . .”
“Mean what?”
“Abandoning everything else in my life that matters,” I confessed.
“I was so excited when I first received the scholarship, but then you got hurt, and the café started falling apart, and it made me reconsider everything. You won’t even be healed by the time I’m supposed to go.
What’ll happen if foot traffic never goes up and you can’t afford anyone to help you?
Don’t I need to be here to keep the café open?
The Tiny Tiger started as your dream, but it’s also my home.
If I desert it and you now, what kind of person does that make me?
” I took a deep, shaky breath. “I want to become a vet and have the power to do good, but is it worth anything if I can’t even help my own family?
I want to be here for who and what I love,” I told her.
“I don’t want to be like my father, who left you when things got hard. ”
“Oh no. No, no, no,” Mom said, shaking her head.
“You’re not like him. It’s just not in you.
He walked out because he didn’t even want to try—he left the first moment things got tough.
You’re entirely the opposite.” She smiled at me, not sad but admiring.
“What happened with him is nothing like you leaving for college.”
“But what if it’s different circumstances, same result?” I asked, another worry that’d been lurking beneath the surface this whole time finally rearing its ugly head.
Did distance really make the heart grow fonder?
Everything in my life so far would point to no.
People proved and maintained their love by being there. What would happen if I got wrapped up in my new life and then couldn’t?
Mom leaned forward, making sure I could see her face as she said, “You’ll always be connected to this place.
I promise. Nothing between us is going to weaken just because we’re apart.
And wanting to grow up and follow your own dreams doesn’t mean you love where you’re from any less.
I know you’ve seen leaving in a bad light, but it’s not always like that.
And it doesn’t have to change anything that actually matters. ”
I gave her a skeptical look.
“You carry your love wherever you go. That doesn’t change. It’s just that, sometimes, the ways we’re able to express it changes,” Mom told me. “And yes, you’re right, being there for someone matters—”
“See?”
“But,” Mom continued firmly, raising her eyebrows, “it’s important to understand that it’s not always proximity or distance that prove whether you’re there for someone or not.”
My eyebrows drew together in confusion. “How’s that?”
“We’re only human; no matter how hard we try, even you have to admit it’s impossible for someone to be there all the time.
You being there for me doesn’t mean you have to put your life on hold or push yourself past what you can handle.
Me being there for you means I’d never ask you to do something that I know would hurt you,” she explained.
“It’s about meeting in the middle. What matters isn’t always changing circumstances, but how much you still love someone and try to make things work despite them, and how we’re there for that person in whatever way’s actually possible.
” She squeezed my hand again, making sure I was listening.
“When you go off to college, you’ll still be there for me, just in a slightly different way.
You’ll still care enough to call me, right? ”
“Of course.” Going away didn’t mean I’d stop talking to her.
“And you’ll still ask how the café’s going, and help me with the website if I ask.
You’ll still visit me on your breaks and tell me all about the new experiences you’re having.
We’ll still talk to each other if we’ve had a bad day or tell each other when we’ve had a good one.
You going away doesn’t change that. We’ll still be in each other’s lives in the way that counts.
Love is more complex than just simply being physically present. And it’s so much stronger for it.”
I sat with what she said, while also thinking back on what had happened lately. But while Mom’s words warmed me, I still felt apprehensive about the future and everything I had to lose. “What if the livestream doesn’t work out?”
“Then we’ll be there for each other in that future too, no matter where we each end up.
And if you want to discuss reservations about why college might not be for you, that’s okay.
But you worked so hard for this scholarship.
And if the only thing holding you back is worry, then you’ve got to let that go.
” She smoothed my hair back. “Even if the café closes, I’ll still figure out a way to be there for the cats too, whether it’s volunteering at a shelter or joining another program or raising awareness. ”
I nodded, understanding. “Because when you love something or someone that much, you’ll figure out a way to be there in whatever way you can, even if it’s not perfect.”
“That counts for small ways too, you know,” Mom said. “Not just big gestures. But in little things, every day. Even when it’s not pretty or fun. Sometimes those things mean the most.”
I let her words sink in, trying to restructure the belief I’d been carrying around all my life.
“Let me go start the water for some tea, okay?” Mom said, rubbing my arm. “We could both use some.”
Mom stood carefully, walking toward the kitchen, and I sat there for a minute, still thinking about our entire conversation, until I suddenly realized something.
Since Jake used the kitchen, there’d be stuff to clean up.
Our sink was tiny, so it would be awkward trying to fill the teakettle while there was a frying pan in there.
Besides, I always made a mess when I cooked, leaving bits of eggshells and yolk on the stove and crumbs strewn across the counters.
I always tidied up, obviously. I just hated it.
But I didn’t want Mom to have to stand any more than she had to and deal with that.
“Hey, Mom, wait,” I called, getting up and striding into the kitchen after her. “Let me—”
But when I got into the kitchen, I stopped in my steps, heart pounding in my chest.
The counter was spotless. The sink was empty. The stove was perfectly clean.
Little things, Mom said.
But it felt like something big.