Chapter Twenty-Five
ELI
The early morningsun peeked over Mom’s back patio in soft golden hues, painting the sky with strokes of pink and orange as I approached the sliding glass door, two steaming lattes clutched like fragile offerings in my hands. My heart hammered a nervous rhythm against my ribs. After a night spent staring at the ceiling fan, replaying every moment with Jules, every argument with Mom, every fear I’d ever buried, I knew I couldn’t put this off any longer.
I knocked lightly, then slid the door open a crack. “Morning, Mom,” I called out, injecting a cheerfulness I didn’t feel into my voice. “Brought you a freshly brewed latte. Hope I didn’t wake you.”
Mom appeared in the kitchen doorway, tying the sash of her familiar floral bathrobe. Her hair was loose, cascading around her shoulders, and making her look younger, softer. A warm smile touched her lips, but her eyes held a familiar wariness that did little to soothe theanxious fluttering in my gut. “Eli, sweetheart. How thoughtful. You’re up bright and early. Looks like a lovely morning. Let’s go outside.”
I followed her onto the patio, the gentle rhythm of waves a contrast to the turmoil churning inside me. The air was cool, carrying the clean scent of salt and damp sand. I handed her a latte, the warmth of the cup a small anchor in the sea of my uncertainty.
“So,” Mom said, settling into one of the cushioned wicker chairs, her gaze calm as she watched me. “To what do I owe this early morning visit?”
I sank into the chair opposite hers, trying to mirror her relaxed posture. I flashed what I hoped was a winning smile, the one that usually got to her. “Can’t a son just want to spend some quality time with his favorite mother?”
She arched an eyebrow as she took a slow sip of her latte. “At six-thirty a.m.? With artisanal lattes you clearly went out of your way for? Try again, Elias.”
Caught. I let out a sigh, scrubbing a hand over my face. The charm offensive wasn’t going to cut it today. “Okay, you got me.” I leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees, the warmth from my own cup doing little to penetrate the chill of my nerves. “I wanted to talk. About… you know. The situation.”
“Julianne,” Mom supplied softly, giving nothing away.
The name hung in the air between us. I nodded, my throat dry despite the coffee. “Yeah. Jules.”
Mom sipped her latte, her eyes never leaving my face. “I assume you’re here to change my mind.”
“I’m here to have a conversation.” I made sure to keep my voice level and calm. “To explain why she is important to me.”
She nodded, her expression softening. “I’m listening.”
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “Jules isn’t just some fling, Mom. She’s… well, different.”
“I know she is,” Mom said gently. “That’s part of the problem.”
I frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”
Mom sighed, setting down her latte. “Eli, you’ve always had a way with women. You have a way with everyone. Frankly, I’m astonished you weren’t pounding on my door the morning after the bonfire assuring me this relationship was nothing special and therefore I should just ignore that it was going on. Instead, you’ve spent nearly a week acting very differently and therefore demonstrating that Julianne is different. This is the first time I’ve seen you truly care about someone. It makes the situation even more complicated.”
“I know it’s complicated, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it,” I argued.
“Let’s forget the resort policy for a moment, forget the complications.” She leaned forward, the lines in her brow displaying a maternal concern that disarmed me more effectively than any anger could have. “I’ve known you since you emerged from my own body. Watched you navigate friendships, heartbreaks. Everything. I can see that you’re more serious, more… invested. I want to ask you a question, and I’d like an honest answer.” Her eyes held mine, demanding truth. “Are youin lovewith her?”
The question knocked the air from my lungs. Sharp, freezing panic seized me.Love.The word echoed in the chambers of my heart, a truth I’d been circling warily. Because naming it made it real. Saying it out loud, especially to Mom, was like stepping off a cliff into an unknown abyss. All my old fears surged—the ghost of my father’s abandonment, the messy, painful wreckage of myparents’ marriage, the deep-seated belief that I was incapable of the kind of lasting commitment love required.
My mouth went dry. I could feel theyesdeep in my throat, wanting to be released. But the fear clamped down and silenced it. I tore my gaze away, fixing it on a distant sailboat gliding across the horizon. I fidgeted with my cup, spinning the cardboard around in my hands.
“Mom, I… I care about her. A lot. More than I can even say.” The words were inadequate, flimsy shields against the enormity of what I felt. I hated how my normally silver tongue was abandoning me. “She’s incredible. Smart, funny, beautiful. She challenges me in ways no one else ever has. Things are… they’re serious between us.” I forced myself to meet her eyes again, pleading for her to understand the unspoken. “She’s important to me. Really important.”
Mom watched me, her expression shifting from searching to something akin to gentle sorrow. A soft sigh escaped her lips. “You care deeply. She’s important. You said all of that.” She paused, letting the observation settle between us. “But you couldn’t say the word, could you? Even now. You can’t say you love her.”
It wasn’t an accusation, more a statement of fact, delivered with a quiet sadness that pierced every defense I owned.
“That’s not fair,”I mumbled, bristling.“It’s just a word.”
“Honey,” she said, her voice filled with understanding, “that’swhat worries me more than any silly resort policy. It’s not whether youcanhave a relationship in this environment, but whether you’re trulyreadyfor one. Especially with someone like Julianne, someone so grounded. You two are very different personalities.”
“So what? Maybe that means we work even better as a couple.”
She gently held up a hand. “Does it? Sweetheart, real love means not running from deep feelings, protecting that bruised heart after your father left.” Her eyes held a profound empathy. “I understandwhyyou do it. So you don’t get hurt. You push people away, or worse, you hold them close enough to feel the warmth but never let them fully in, until you inevitably bolt when things get too real, too demanding.”
