“The studio thought it wouldn’t appeal to boys.”
“Well, that’s stupid.”
“Agreed.” She looks miserable.
“Well, you’re not like that Mother…Goose person.”
“Mother Gothel.”
“Whatever.”
“How do you know I’m not a bad mom?” she whispers.
“When Sam told you about the sleepover, did you lock him in his room?”
Her eyes widen. “Of course not.”
“Did you tell him you didn’t want him to go? Or make up some ridiculous excuse to keep him home?”
“No.”
“Exactly.” I lean in just slightly, holding her gaze. “Even though it scares you, even though you hate thinking about him growing up and pulling away, you still let him go. Because you’d never stand in his way. Because you’re a good mom.”
Her seafoam eyes are practically glowing in the soft light. They search mine like she doesn’t quite believe me. “You really think I’m a good mom?”
“I don’t just think it. Iknowyou are. And Sam knows it too. You’ll never lose him.”
Her smile trembles, watery around the edges, and I worry for a second that I’ve pushed too far. That I’ve said too much.
“Someone once told me that change is hard,” I add, teasingly.
Elliot bites her bottom lip, clearly remembering. “Oh? And who was this wise person?”
“Just some crazy woman who once tried to run me over with her car.”
She throws the pillow at me, laughing now, and the sound heals something in me. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Yes, you did. You cheered me up.” She pushes her hair back from her face. “We can still do the session, if you want. I’ll go upstairs and change.”
“No.” I wave her off. “It’s fine. I’ll keep up with the exercises on my own. You’re in your…” My brain blanks. Fantasy flannel? Porno Plaid? “Pajamas. I’ll let you get back to your movie. I’ve heard it’s good.”
Her mouth falls open in disbelief, and it’s instantly harder to keep my thoughts anywhere near PG-13. Harder being the operative word. Becausefuck. That mouth. The things I want it to do. Thank God the pillow’s back in my lap, serving a second, more urgent purpose.
“You’ve never seenJurassic Park?”
“Nope.”
“I—how? Why?” She looks personally offended.
I drag in a breath. “I remember when it came out. The ads were everywhere. You couldn’t escape them. One of the kids in my class invited me to his eleventh birthday party. They were all going to see it on opening weekend.”
“So why didn’t you go?”
My fingers toy with the pillow fringe while I decide how much to admit. “My dad didn’t want me to. Said he had a training session planned.”
“On a weekend night?” she asks, baffled.
