“Well?” I asked gently.
She lifted her head just enough to give me a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Looks like I’m having lunch with my mother tomorrow.”
24
Sage
I slid into the booth across from my mom, the vinyl seat stiff beneath me, the smell of coffee and sizzling bacon hanging thick in the air. The diner was small, with retro-checkered floors and fluorescent lights that buzzed faintly if you paid attention. My stomach did somersaults, half from nerves and half from guilt—guilt for showing up late, guilt for the years I’d let pass without really seeing her.
Before I’d even glanced at the menu, she dove in. “You’re in the news with that hockey boy. Making a spectacle of yourself.”
“His name’s Aiden,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “And I have no control over gossip rags.”
She ignored me, flicking a glance down at the table as if my correction was irrelevant. “You of all people should know the life of a woman who stands in the shadows of an athlete. And here you are, flaunting it all over the papers.”
I gritted my teeth and forced a small, humorless smile. She was right. I knew all about that life. Thanks to her. Anger flared in me, infected and ancient. I hated it almost as much as I hated what she’d done to our family.
But I refused to let myself lose it here. To give her the satisfaction of seeing it happen.
The waiter arrived just in time, interrupting her tirade with a cheerful, “What can I get you ladies today?”
She came back a few minutes later with a small salad for me, and chicken parm for the stranger who called herself my mother.
I picked at my plate, grateful for the pause.
My mom’s eyes narrowed as she watched me. “I see you’re still eating like a pigeon instead of feeding your body what it needs.”
“What would you know about the things I need?” I snapped without thinking. “You haven’t seen me in almost a year.”
She scoffed, leaning back, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Don’t be ridiculous. I was at the studio—”
“You were at the studio two and a half years ago when we held our first public walk-in day. I gave you that stupid rose on your wrist that I told you was a bad idea but you insisted on it anyway. I see it’s aging just as I knew it would.”
She self-consciously flipped her hand over to hide the wrist in question from my view. “Well, that’s neither here nor there. I’m your mother and I’m allowed to be concerned about you.”
I huffed a laugh, partly disbelief, partly irritation. “Unbelievable.”.
She didn’t let up, switching gears seamlessly. “And this convention—”
“You know about the convention?” The idea of her keeping tabs on me creeped me the fuck out.
“I hear you caused quite a stir there,” she said. “I suppose that means you’re not pursuing real art anymore.”
“All art is real.” I jabbed a cocktail tomato with a little too much force, and it went shooting out of my plate, off the table. “And you sure hear a whole lot for someone who isn’t part of my life.”
She ignored the jab, didn’t even flinch. “Such a shame, wasting all that talent. But I shouldn’t be surprised, I guess. It’s just like you to give up on a dream right when you’ve been shortlisted.”
I froze mid-bite, the fork hovering halfway to my mouth. “Shortlisted? What are you talking about?”
My mom’s head tilted, an incredulous expression creeping over her face, like I’d just asked a question a toddler should know the answer to. “What do you mean, what am I talking about? You were the one who joined the waitlist at that school. How could you not know you’ve been shortlisted?”
Anger prickled the back of my neck.How could I not know?My name had been on that application, my work had been considered, my future hanging in the balance. And somehow, somehow, she knew about the shortlist before I did?
The diner’s clatter and chatter faded into a dull hum, like I’d been yanked out of the rhythm of our back-and-forth bickering and jolted straight into disbelief and shock. My heart hammered through a mix of growing frustration, and that ever-simmering, familiar resentment. She had followed this world I’d been building, a world I thought I was navigating by myself.
I sank a little into the booth, stirring my salad more out of habit than hunger. She had no idea how long I’d been working toward this, how much work, how many sleepless nights and people doubting me. And somehow, she had managed to follow it all from the shadows.
Enough.Enough.
