“Let’s get coffee first,” I interjected, holding up a hand to stop the deluge of questions I knew was coming. “I need something in my stomach for this conversation.”
Stacey’s expression was one of confusion and concern, but she nodded anyway, following me to the counter. We both ordered and Stacey insisted on paying. I wasn’t really sure why. She was the one going through a divorce. But apparently I looked extra pitiable right now. Hopefully that worked in my favor when I finally told her the truth. I had this reoccurring image in my head of her flipping the cafe table and beating me to death with it. Not that I wouldn’t deserve it.
We grabbed our drinks from the counter and found a quiet table in the corner of the café. I watched Stacey stir her coffee, methodically adding exactly one packet of sugar and a splash of cream, just like she always had. The familiarity of the gesture made my chest ache with nostalgia and guilt.
“Alright,” she said, settling back in her chair. “What’s going on? Did something happen with Brittany?”
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. “Brittany and I... we’re done. For good this time.”
“Oh, Kent.” Her face softened with sympathy. “I’m so sorry. When I saw you two yesterday, I thought?—”
“That’s not why I asked you to meet me,” I interrupted, my voice rougher than I intended. “I need to tell you something important. Something I should have told you a long time ago.”
Stacey’s brow furrowed, but she remained silent, waiting for me to continue. I wrapped my hands around my coffee cup, drawing comfort from its warmth as I searched for the right words.
“I’ve been... I’ve been living with James for a few weeks now,” I started, keeping my eyes fixed on the table. “And during that time, things changed between us. A lot.”
“Changed how?” she asked, her voice carefully neutral.
This was it. The point of no return. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I was certain she could hear it.
“I’m in love with him,” I said, the words coming out in a rush. “With James. Your son.”
The silence that followed felt endless. I forced myself to look up, to face whatever reaction was coming. Stacey’s expression was completely unreadable, her coffee cup frozen halfway to her lips.
“Say something,” I whispered. “Please.”
She set her cup down slowly, deliberately, like she was afraid it might shatter. “You’re in love with James,” she repeated, each word measured and careful.
“Yes.”
“And... does he feel the same way?”
That question hit me like a punch to the gut. “He might have. I never asked or admitted it to him. But now I’ve ruined everything.”
Stacey leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving my face. I braced myself for the explosion, for the disgust and anger that I’d convinced myself was inevitable.
Instead, she asked, “What did you do?”
So, I told her everything. About how things had started between James and me, about our weeks together, about Trevor finding out, and finally, about my colossal mistake with Brittany and the aftermath. By the time I finished, my coffee had gone cold and my voice was hoarse.
“And now he won’t even talk to me,” I concluded, feeling the weight of my actions pressing down on me. “I don’t blame him either. What I suggested was... it was unforgivable.”
Stacey was quiet for a long moment, processing everything I’d just dumped on her. I couldn’t read her expression, which terrified me more than outright anger would have.
“Let me get this straight,” she finally said. “You’ve been in a relationship with my son for weeks, you panicked when I showed up with Brittany, you left with her, and then you went back to James and suggested being his... what? Secret lover while you pretended to date Brittany?”
Put that way, it sounded even worse than I’d thought. “Yes,” I admitted, shame burning through me. “It was stupid and selfish and?—”
“Yes, it was,” she cut me off, her voice sharp. “That was a terrible thing to do to James.”
I nodded, unable to defend myself. “I know.”
“But,” she continued, her tone softening slightly, “I can understand why you panicked.”
My head snapped up. “You do?”
“Kent, I’ve known you since you were seventeen years old. I’ve watched you try so hard to be what your father wanted. To fit into this narrow little box of who you thought you should be.” She reached across the table and, to my complete surprise, took my hand. “And I’ve seen how much it’s cost you.”
