“I’m serious, you had me worried. You weren’t living, sweetheart. You were existing. Moving from my couch to work and back again like a very sad, very dramatic sloth.”
My mouth drops open. “I was not a sloth.”
She barks out a laugh. “Yes, you were.”
“Mom!”
“Don’t ‘Mom’ me,” she teases, squeezing my arm. “There’s no need to apologize. You’re finally feeling things again. Finally living. You think I’m going to be mad about that?”
She lifts a brow, waiting.
“No.” I sigh.
We take a seat at a small table by the window as the cafeteria buzzes around us. Nurses grabbing takeaway coffees between rounds, doctors taking a moment to themselves, visitors with dark, worried circles around their eyes. A few patients wander slowly through, grateful for a change of scenery after hours in bed.
“I’ll never be mad at you for living your life.” She leansback, patting down her pink scrubs. “Now, go order this old girl a coffee and then update me on everything that’s been happening.”
A small chuckle slips out of me as I go to order our coffees.
I slide Mom’s cup across to her when I return, laughing under my breath at how she’s already in full interrogation mode. Her elbows are planted on the table, eyes narrowed, lips pursed, waiting. Before I even think about taking a sip of my own coffee, the words pour out—Halle’s birthday, the night everything shifted, how I can’t seem to stop falling into bed every night with Hunter, the letters he still won’t face.
She blinks at me, processing.
“Well,” she finally says, lifting her cup, taking a sip, “you have landed yourself in a bit of a pickle, haven’t you?”
“Mom, what do I do?” I twist the lid on my coffee cup. “It’s been weeks, and he still hasn’t given Halle the letters. Why is he tiptoeing around it? He says he wants to work things out with me, and I feel like we’re so close to putting everything behind us, but this?” I exhale hard. “It’s holding him back. It’s a weight he keeps carrying, and until he deals with it… I don’t know how we move forward. It feels like we’re repeating everything we did from before he left, except this time, it’s not a secret.”
“And you’re too kind to push him, because you know he’s hurting, and you don’t want to overstep. You don’t want to break his trust,” she says gently.
I nod, staring down at the table, picking at the lid on my cup.
“But it sounds like he needs a swift kick up the butt,” she adds, giving me a knowing look. “Because I know you’re not going to wait as long this time. You won’t put yourselfthrough that again, and you’re not going to hide those letters from Halle. Are you?”
“No.” My answer comes out stronger than I expected. “I don’t want to keep things from her anymore, and a small part of me…” My throat tightens. “A small part of me wants to be selfish. I want him to choose us for once. To put our relationship first. Does that make me a bad person?”
“No, it doesn’t, my sweet girl. It makes you human.” She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand.
I huff out a laugh. “Can’t you do the meddling thing you love to do? I know he comes around to the house and helps you when you ask. Can’t you kick him up the butt next time?”
She crosses her arms, tilting her chin down. “How about you talk to him first? And preferably with your clothes on. Maybe even with a table between the two of you so there’s absolutely zero distractions.”
“Mom!” I groan, heat rushing to my cheeks.
“What?” she says, finishing the last sip of her coffee. “Your physical relationship has never been the issue here. And while I’m glad you spare me the details, I will say this: your miscommunication and fear are keeping you two from going all in. You’ve been patient. Maybe it’s time you got a little mad.”
I slump back in my chair. “Why do you always have to be right?”
“Because I’m your mother, and I’m always right.” She pushes her chair back. “Come on, let’s go see Charlie, and then you can get going.”
I glance at Mom’s pink scrubs as we weave our way back through the cafeteria.
“By the way, how’s your patient? The one who loves pink?”
Mom’s eyes soften. “She gets to go home tomorrow. She made me promise to wear the pink once a week when she’s gone, because if they made her happy, they might make someone else happy too.”
“She sounds pretty smart,” I say, a smile tugging at my lips.
We turn the corner into the children’s ward. The familiar scent of disinfectant and bubble gum soap wraps around us. I wave to Sally behind the nurses’ station and reach for the volunteers’ sign-in sheet.
