My mom reaches for my hand, squeezing it once. “Sweetheart,” she says, voice careful, loving. “Tell me something.”
“What?”
“Did you ever really get over Brennan?”
“Mom!”
“What?
“How can you ask me that?”
“Because love isn’t like your math equations. You don’t get to resolve your emotions and move on. Saying you’re over someone and actually being over them are two very different things.”
I hate that she’s right. Yet, seeing Brennan has me questioning whether I’d actually left the past behind.
She leans over and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Don’t overthink the question.”
“I won’t,” I lie. Because I’m doing just that.
Deciding to stay for dinner was easy. Halfway through loading the dishwasher, I pull my phone from my bag. I open our group chat knowing my girls will have definite opinions about today.
Me:
I’m here.
The replies come instantly.
Maya:
How did today go?
Christin:
Did you raise enough for the trip?
I lean against the counter, the familiar kitchen sounds grounding me.
Me:
We’ll be doing it monthly all year. Otherwise I’ll have to funnel my tutoring money into the fund.
Maya:
You know we’ll chip in. All of us.
Emery:
Absolutely.
My chest warms even as I prepare myself to tell them about today.
Me:
Things were…kind of unexpected.
Christin:
Did hell freeze over causing the frozen food to melt?
