I set the knife down and stare at my hands for a long moment. “I don’t know how it happened, but I fell for someone I barely know. And I’ve already managed to ruin it.”
That gets her attention. Her eyes light up in a way I haven’t seen in years. But instead of seeing concern or the motherly, overprotective nature she usually displays if I share something bothering me, she appears hopeful, soft. “You did?”
I nod, exhaling. “Yeah. Wasn’t looking for it. Didn’t want it, honestly. But she’s… Mom, she’s everything.” I shake my head. “And I completely screwed it up.”
“What happened?” she asks gently. There’s the tiniest flicker in her brown irises. It’s like a pilot light to the carefree woman I remember years ago.
I grip the back of my neck, trying to rub the continued ache from the stiff muscles that have taken up permanent residence. “I was trying to protect her. Thought something wasn’t right, and I... I found some information I shouldn’t have. I would hate if someone was digging into my private life. And then I went and did the very same thing to her. I was only worried.” I swallow hard. “But I had no right.” My head falls forward in shame. “Then she found out. And now she’s gone.”
When I look back up, she’s smiling.Grinning, actually. “Why the hell are you smiling?” I ask, half-laughing, half-exasperated.
“Because,” she says, squeezing my arm, “you finally let someone in. I’ve waited years to hear you talk like this.”
I shake my head. “Mom, this isn’t something to celebrate. Did you miss the part where I said I lost her?”
She tilts her head, her voice soft but steady. “I’ve had so much guilt over what your father and I did to you. How the divorce hardened you. I let you down, not providing you with a cohesive family. Not to mention what it may have cost you financially. But the worst of it was seeing how it made you cynical about love. But this…” She claps her hands together in a sign of joy I haven’t seen in years. “This means there’s still hope in you.”
“Stop,” I say quickly, grabbing her arms, turning her to face me. I need to be sure she hears me. “None of that wasyourfault! None! I could see his priorities were somewhere else. My relationship with him was wrecked long before he took his selfish wrath out on you.”
I need her to understand she’s been nothing but a positive force in my life. She needs to know this wasn’t on her. “You were the best mother I could’ve asked for. Youarethe best mother.”
Her lip trembles, and I pull her into my arms. For a long while, we just stand there, the smell of a fresh start filling the air, both of us trying not to fall apart. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are wet but steady. “You know,” she says softly, “your father used to tell me you were just like him. Stubborn. Closed off. I used to pray he was wrong.”
I give a small, self-deprecating smile. “Guess he wasn’t entirely.”
She shakes her head. “No. You’re loyal. That’s quite different. You’re not heartless and cold. And you’re compassionate to a fault.” She nudges me with her elbow. “You’dneverhurt someone on purpose.”
Her words hit deeper than I expect. I look away, staring at the counter where the half-sliced tomatoes bleed onto the cutting board.
“She said she needed space,” I murmur. “That she needed to get her head on straight. And I get it. I do. But I can’t stop thinking abouther.” About how she laughed when she didn’t mean to. How she’d bite her lip when she was trying not to cry. How it felt like I’d known her a lifetime after such a short while.
Mom smiles again. It’s glorious after missing the sight of it for so long. “Then don’t let the space turn into silence.”
I glance at her. “You think I should reach out to her?”
“I think,” she says, setting a hand on my arm, “that some people come along once in a lifetime. And if you’re lucky enough to find one of those, you don’t let pride or guilt keep you from fighting for them.”
My face falls.Does she think my dad’s worth fighting for?
“Don’t give me that look, young man. You can’t possibly think I’m that stupid.”
There’s no holding back my stunned laughter. Now if that isn’t the best thing I’ve heard in years. I need to focus on this and let it keep my head somewhere positive. Yet, the idea of calling her after what I’ve done still feels daunting. I exhale, a shaky sound that’s half chuckle, half sigh. “What if she doesn’t want to hear from me?”
“Then at least you’ll know,” she says. “But if you say nothing, you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering what might’ve been. That’s a heavier kind of loneliness, David. Trust me.” Her voice falters on that last line, and my heart begins to plummet until I force myself to remember she’s slowly digging herself out of that treacherous hole.
The kitchen grows quiet. She turns back to the counter, like she’s said all she needs to. Until she blurts, “Okay, let’s get cracking.” She tosses an egg into the air. I have to react quickly to catch it. The joke completely catches me off guard, nearly knocking the wind out of me. God, I love this woman. She just keeps fighting her way out of the darkness, even when I can’t see it.
And if she can, so can I.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAR
Thanksgiving smells like cinnamon,sage, and roasted turkey the second I walk through the door of Ellie’s restaurant. The warm wood walls seem to glow under the amber lights, and laughter hums through the air like static before a storm. Every table is full. A mixture of locals and newcomers crammed shoulder to shoulder, passing plates and swapping stories like we’re one big, mismatched family.
How Ellie is doing this while growing two babies I have no idea. Yet somehow, she and Matt are hosting everyone in Sycamore Mountain without family plans this year. And they’ve managed to make the chaos feel intentional. Matt is behind the bar carving turkey with surgical precision while Ellie waddles between tables with a pitcher of sweet tea, her laughter rising above the clatter of silverware. Everything about it should feel like home, but I’m teetering on the razor’s edge between calm and unease.
Betty came back to Sycamore Mountain for the holiday. Ellie and Matt offered her an air mattress in their newly decorated nursery, but she politely declined, citing the bed and breakfast as “a better fit for her delicate sleep schedule.” Translation: too much togetherness.
