“Mmm.”
That’s herI don’t believe yousound.
Dad takes his tea back into the living room, leaving Mum and me alone in the kitchen. She leans against the counter and studies me for a moment.
“How was the trip really?” she asks.
“Cold.”
“I mean the people.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“The people?”
“Yes. The other parents. Teachers. Anyone interesting? Any good campfire gossip?”
Subtle. Very subtle.
“Everyone survived,” I say.
“That wasn’t my question.”
I grab a glass of water just to give my hands something to do.
“Freya went,” Mum adds casually, giving me the look.
God I hate that look. This woman seems to know everything.
“Yeah,” I say.
“She’s lovely.”
“Yep.” I reply, not making eye contact. Because if I do, I am sure she will be able to stare into my soul and see how I really feel about Freya Collins.
Another small pause settles in the kitchen. Mum watches me like she’s piecing together a puzzle.
“You’ve always had a soft spot for her.”
“That’s a bit of an understatement considering we grew up together.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
I sigh quietly.
“Hypothetically,” she continues, “if someone had feelings for a woman they’d known since childhood…”
“Hypothetically,” I interrupt, “that sounds like a terrible idea.”
She smiles slightly. “Why?”
“Because friendships are fragile. Especially when kids are involved.”
“Are they?”
“Yes.”
“Or are you just afraid of changing something that feels safe?”
