She nods. “He’s the one who convinced me to come, actually. He told me he talked to you that weekend before the garage sale and was concerned that you weren’t answering your phone.”
My brows pull together, processing this information. The more I think about what she’s told me, the more sense it makes.It figures that my mom wouldn’t start paying attention to me until Noah suggested it. Until Noah raised a flag. “Oh.”
“And then I got the email from the school, and I just wondered…”
I blink at her. “Wondered what?”
“I wondered if perhaps I’ve been unfair to you.”
I sigh, slumping in my seat. “Mom, it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.” She reaches across the table, putting her hand on mine in a surprisingly tender gesture. “Ivy. It’s not fine.” I shrug. I can’t meet her eyes. “I want you to understand that you can come to me. Talk to me. Maybe I haven’t made that clear enough.”
My eyes snap up, and before I can stop myself, I say, much too defensively, “I’ve tried talking to you before, Mom. It doesn’t work.”
I wait for her to snap back, to lash out in return, but she doesn’t. She goes quiet for a while, contemplating my words. Then, she points to my plate. “If you’re not going to eat this here, take it to go. You need calories.” I stare at her because those are the last words I ever expected to hear come out of Angela Combs’ mouth. “And I’m staying the weekend. Maybe you’ll want to try talking more tomorrow.”
My eyebrows raise. My mom taking a day trip to come visit me was crazy to begin with, but staying the weekend? I can barely wrap my head around it. “You are?”
“Yes. At the hotel a few blocks down.”
“Does dad know?” I ask, considering he’s even more frugal than she is.
“Not yet.”
I blink at her, wondering,who is this woman?
And then she leaves a five percent tip because the service was “a little bit slow, don’t you think?” and I recognize her again.
THIRTY-FOUR
True to her word,I meet up with my mom again the following day. We grab coffee at a cafe and then walk through the main stretch of town, popping into some of the shops as we go.
My heart gives a painful squeeze as we pass the ice cream shop, and then another when we arrive at the bookstore, memories of Wes overtaking me before I can stop them. Following my mom inside, I wander the romance section, doing my best to distract myself from the past by perusing the new arrivals.
“Find one you like?” Mom asks after a while, nodding toward the book in my hand.
I place it back on the shelf with a shrug and turn to face her, trying not to let my surprise show. “Um. Not really.”
“Which one?”
“Mom—”
“Ivy, let me buy you something,” she insists.
“Mom, really. It’s fine.”
“Ivy. Grab the book. I’m buying it for you.”
I hesitate for another second before reclaiming the book from the shelf. I don’t have the energy to keep arguing with her, so if she wants to buy it for me, I’ll let her.
As we check out, I notice the girl behind the register eyeing me conspicuously. I try to ignore it, praying she won’t make some uncomfortable comment in front of my mother, but it’s hard. Being infamous on campus is not for the weak, and lately that’s all I am.
We end up at the sandwich shop down the street, and my shoulders tense up when I spot two familiar figures stepping through the door. Quinn’s eyes meet mine across the room, and she nudges Remy in the side. With the way I’ve been treating her lately—ignoring her texts, her calls, her knocks at my bedroom door—I fully expect her to turn around and leave or ignore me completely.
“Do you see someone you know?” Mom asks, turning in her chair to follow my line of sight.
“Yeah,” I say, surprised when Quinn whispers something to Remy before leaving him in the line. She winds through tables, beelining straight to ours.
