“There was nothing to do.”
She gives me a doubtful look. Then asks, “Is it okay if I hug you?”
I nod weakly and collapse into her embrace. Her comforting arms around me bring more tears to the surface, and I let my mom hold me as I sob like little thirteen-year-old me always wanted.
Her shoulder is a mess of snot and tears by the time I’ve composed myself enough to pull away. She rubs my back soothingly and leads me to the bed, where we sit, her arm still wrapped protectively around me.
“This is why you only come home to visit when we’re at the lake house,” she says.
“You noticed that?”
“Of course.” She tsks herself. “I wish I would’ve put the pieces together sooner. I’m so sorry, baby.”
“It’s fine.”
She hugs me tighter because it’s not fine.
“And this is why you get so upset when I try to get you to move home?”
I nod. “About that … So there’s actually someone I’m kind of seeing, but I think I might’ve messed it up.”
She pulls back to look down at me, her face asking me to explain.
“I love her.” I smile through my tears. “And that scared me, so I’ve been putting space between us. I know she can tell, and I feel like crap.”
“It sounds like you just need to talk to her. Explain all this.”
I swallow. Mom gets up to grab me a box of tissues, and I take two. Getting to my feet, I take a deep breath. “Okay. Yeah. I’m going to go talk to her.”
“There we go!” Mom cheers. “Win your woman back.”
I roll my eyes, but playfully. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Made you smile.” She points at my cheek.
I agree and head toward the door.
“Hey, Lily,” she says when my hand is on the knob. “Tell Harlow I say hello.”
My mouth falls open. “How did—? Did she tell you?”
Mom winks. “She didn’t, but we can talk about it later. Now go, get your girl.”
I smile. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
After a quick shower, to stop feeling so gross, and a small detour, I head to Harlow’s.
I’m relieved to see her van parked outside, and, after a couple deep, steadying breaths, I slowly make my way to the door. My stomach is twisted in knots, and the back of my neck is sweaty despite the crisp breeze. Harlow answers the door in a black T-shirt and sweatpants, her expression difficult to read. Daisy, on the other hand, is overjoyed by my arrival. She rushes forward, and it takes great effort to keep what’s in my hand hidden behind my back while I lean forward to let her.
“Lily? Hey. What’re you?—?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Maybe I should’ve texted before showing up, but I wanted to apologize and explain. And I wanted to do it in person.”
“You didn’t need to text first,” she says and steps back to welcome me inside.
I do, angling my body so she can’t see behind my back. Daisy prances in behind me and catches a whiff of what I’m holding. She hops up, sniffing the bag, tail wagging.
