“She is temporary,” I say. “She’s leaving after the festival. And I am not exactly good at… this.”
“This,” she repeats.
“Dating,” I say.
“You say that like you’re eighty,” she says. “You’re thirty-two, Liam. Not ancient.”
“It feels like a lot,” I say. “For me and for Maisie.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “Has Maisie met her?”
“Yes,” I admit.
“And?”
“She likes her.”
“Then you’re already in it,” Mom says simply. “So the question is not whether you can avoid it. The question is what you’re going to do about it.”
I let out a low breath. “I don’t know.”
“Do you trust her?” Mom asks.
I answer without thinking. “Yes.”
“Do you feel like yourself around her or are you pretending?”
“I feel… more like myself,” I say, surprised by my own words.
“Then talk to her,” Mom says. “You don’t have to have a five-year plan. You just have to be honest.”
“What if it hurts?” I ask.
“It might,” she says, not sugarcoating it. “But you’re allowed to have something good, even if it is not guaranteed forever.”
I close my eyes. That hits a part of me I keep locked tight.
“Let me take Maisie tomorrow,” she says. “Go talk to her, face to face, not over text. You hate texting anyway.”
“That’s true,” I say.
“And if you need me,” she adds, “I am here. Always.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Of course. Now go to bed. You sound like you have your thinking face on.”
Everyone is ganging up on my face today.
We hang up, and I sit there for another minute, then I set my phone down and make the decision.
Tomorrow, I’m going to see Charlotte, no texts, and no hiding behind work. Just us, talking, and maybe more, if we’re both honest about what we want.
The next morning starts earlier than usual. I swing by my mom’s house to drop off Maisie’s overnight bag for later, Mom’s also going to drop her to school.
Mom meets us at the door in her slippers, hair pulled up, eyes bright.
“There’s my girl,” she says, bending down to hug Maisie. “I get you before and after school today. Are you ready for a fun day?”
