Page 59 of The Crafting Con

I kissed Declan. My eyes fly open, the events of last night rushing in alongside the morning light. I kissed Declan, and Declan kissed me back. And it was…everything.

I close my eyes, allowing myself a moment to relive the magic before reality sets back in. It hadn’t been my first kiss—no, that dubious honor went to Eric Hayes back in the eighth grade. I’d gone through a rather lengthy string of short-term relationships in my quest to numb the pain of Dad’s leaving, and Mom’s less physical departure. Kissing became a twisted form of therapy, one I’d used more than I care to admit. I never went farther, though, breaking things off and moving on whenever the lines began to blur. By the time I reached high school, I’d tired of the game, and threw myself into pep club and more academic pursuits. I still flirted a bit, attended Homecomings and Spring Flings, but relationships had officially been shelved for a few years.

Until now.

I roll onto my stomach, pulling the lavender comforter right along with me so that I’m wrapped up burrito-style as I squeal into my pillow. Me and Declan. Has any pairing ever felt more perfect? We’re like Romeo and Juliet, only without the horrifically bad choices at the end. And we’ve known each other for more than two seconds.

Okay, so maybe not Romeo and Juliet at all.

But we do have our obstacles. Or rather, one singular, mom-shaped obstacle. If Declan and I are going to be more than friends—and I really hope that we are, because that kiss—I’m going to have to tell Mom. Which ultimately means telling her everything, not just that Declan and I have been hanging out again, but about the workshop, about OA Con. Just thinking about the impending conversation leeches the wind from my post-kiss fueled sails.

She just learned about Dad and Becky’s baby. Do I really want to hit her with this right now too? Surely it can wait a few days? Maybe I can slip it in after prom and the convention are over. Ease her into it after things calm down a bit.

Okay, so maybe I’m stalling, but I don’t care. I’m in too good a mood to deal with this today, so I’m making the executive decision not to. Because I can.

I get ready for school, taking extra care with my hair, and spending an inordinate amount of time choosing an outfit. The amount of clothes piling up on the bed makes me feel ridiculous, but I can’t help it. I’m nervous, in an excited kind of way.

When I get downstairs, Mom’s cooking again, only not in a mouth-watering, cozy oatmeal kind of way. Instead, I’m hit with the smell of burned bacon, and there’s a grayish pile of what I suspect might be scrambled eggs in a pan at the back of the stove.

“Hey, Mom.” I try not to wrinkle my nose as I head toward the fridge, pausing briefly to give her a hug. “Smells good.”

She tosses the metal spatula she’s holding into the sink with a scowl. “Liar.”

“Perhaps, but only with the best intentions.” I pull out the orange juice and pour a glass for each of us, then hesitate. I’m torn between holding on to my post-kiss euphoria for as long as possible and checking in to make sure she’s keeping her head above water.

And if she isn’t? What am I going to do then? Start another bonfire? Force her back into therapy? Stasia was right. She’s a grown woman. She can take care of herself.

It’s what I want to believe, but the fact is, I love her more than anything. And it never hurts to listen. So, tentatively, I ask, “Is something up? It’s not like you to commit sacrilege where bacon is concerned.”

Mom growls at the pan of maybe-eggs and scrapes it into the trash bin. The paper towel full of charred bacon follows suit. Sighing, she accepts the glass I hold out to her, sinking onto one of the counter stools. “Your dad called.”

Seriously, this guy. Months with barely a word, and now that he has a newborn on the way, he’s suddenly Mr. Chatty. I wish he’d just leave us alone. “Oh yeah? And what did he want this time?” Other than to make Mom miserable. “I answered his last call.”

Mom takes a hit of OJ and sets the glass down firmly enough that I side-eye it for potential cracks. “It would seem he’s going to be in town this weekend. Wanted to take you out for dinner. I told him you were busy with prom, and he had the audacity to ask to come over for photos. I hung up on him, but ultimately, he’s your dad.” She keeps her gaze fixed on the table, posture tense. “If you want him there, I won’t stop you from inviting him.”

I place a hand on her shoulder. “There’s only one parent I want in those photos with me, and it’s you. I don’t know why Dad’s coming to town this weekend, but he can bite me if he thinks he can just waltz in and⁠—”

Oh.

Oh no.

No, no, no, no, no.

I bet I do know why Dad is coming to town this weekend.

He’s going to OA Con.

This is so not happening.

I literally avoid all things nerdy for five years, and the moment I step back onto the scene, Dad shows up? Are you kidding me? Maybe Mom could handle the idea of my being there with Declan, but with Dad? There’s no way. And, if I’m being honest, it’s not just Mom I’m worried about. Seeing Dad back in his element? All those buried memories mixing with the picture of him and some new kid? I feel sick just thinking about it.

I can’t go.

But if I don’t…

I’ll be letting Declan down. Again.

Agh, this sucks.