“Sweetheart, worrying about whatmighthappen isn’tunreasonable,” she continues. “Especially when you’re trying to protect your son.”
I let out a breath of air I’d been holding hostage. Moms are always right.
“But also, you wouldn’t be concerned if you didn’t care,” she continues, her tone gentle. “You’re thinking about someone else’s needs, too. Not just Theo’s.”
I close my eyes.
“That’s new,” she adds, not teasing. Observant.
“It is,” I say quietly. “This life is not about only me. I want—no, I need to be smart about this.”
“You are,” she says with the confidence I’m lacking. “This isn’t fear talking. It’s a mother’s discernment.”
The words settle deep, warm and steady.
I shift under the covers, the knot in my chest loosening just a little. “When did you get so wise?”
She chuckles. “Somewhere between raising a strong daughter and watching her finally trust herself.”
I smile into the pillow. Outside my bedroom, Theo laughs at something on his screen—bright, uncomplicated joy. I’m quiet for a moment, listening to the low hum on the line.
“You sound different when you talk about him,” my mom says.
I let out a soft scoff. “I do not.”
“You do,” she says, gently smug. “There’s more air in your voice.”
“That might just be oxygen,” I counter.
She laughs, but she doesn’t let it go. “Juliette.”
I sigh, rolling onto my side, phone pressed closer to my ear. “I think I might be falling for him,” I admit. The words come out softer than I expect. “Which is terrible timing.”
“Honey,” she says, warm and steady, “there’s never good timing for love. There’s just choosing to be ready for it.”
My chest tightens—not with panic this time, but something heavier. Truer.
“What if David decides to be a jerk,” I whisper, “Like, he comes to the game and is rude to Sawyer or worse yet, he doesn’t even come at all? Or we get into an argument in front of, I don’t know, all of the VIPs who are going to be in the box with us. I don’t think anyone needs to hear me go off on that man with my list of reasons to hate him even if they are truthful.”
She doesn’t interrupt.
“And what if Sawyer sees all of that,” I continue, voice barely above a breath, “the mess, the history, the complications—and decides it’s too much? We’re too much?”
“Sweet girl,” she says, “from everything you’ve told me, Sawyer’s already seeing the mess.”
“And?”
“Has he disappeared yet?” When I don’t respond, she keeps going. “One thing at a time, my anxious daughter,” she adds. “First—Theo’s birthday. You make it special. For him. For you.”
I nod, even though she can’t see it.
“Then,” she continues, “you wait for David to do what David does and go from there. Don’t get ahead of yourself. You don’t borrow trouble before you have to.”
I swallow. “Okay.”
“You’ve got this,” she says. And then, softly, “And it sounds like you’ve got him, too.”
My eyes sting. Just a little.
