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“You don’t even know him,” I said, brows furrowing.
Dean smiled softly, and somehow the kindness and understanding in that smile made it so much worse. “I used to be just like him. Running from anything serious. Ready to bolt when things got too hard. Couldn’t let myself settle into anything.” He paused before he opened the door. “You’re too smart to keep waiting for him to change.”
All right then. So there’d be no sweet hug or beautiful shared tears over the experience we had over the past four months. It was a parting shot that struck somewhere deep, clanging and clanking as I swallowed it down.
I set my jaw and held his gaze. “Goodbye, Dean.”
He let out a deep breath and slipped out the door. I sank onto the couch and speared my hair with my hands, elbows braced on my thighs. The baby did a small flip, and I glanced down, one hand coasting over the front of my bump.
“Hopefully, you’re in the mood for some more pie because we are gonna need it.”
Standing from the couch with a groan, I tried to decide how much longer I could get away with eating my feelings. At least a couple more months because if there was one excellent thing about pregnancy, it was those extra calories per day.
If I wanted to fill those calories with a bag of Sour Patch Kids the size of my face, there wasn’t a person in the world who could stop me.
Mom’s bedroom door cracked open, and her head poked out. “Can I come out? I wasn’t eavesdropping, I promise.”
I really needed my own place.
Still, I managed a smile. “Yeah. He just left.”
As she left her room, she tied the ends of her fuzzy blue robe around her waist, the one she wore every morning and every night. “You okay?”
“I don’t know.” I yanked the covered pie tin from the fridge. Eyeing the two generous slices left, I opened the drawer in the island and pulled out two forks. “Want some?”
She eyed me carefully. “I think I’ll let you have the rest.”
“Wise move.” There was no need to cut myself a piece because we both knew I’d be finishing that pie. Stabbing a bite with the fork, I narrowed my eyes and took a slow bite, thinking about what Dean said on his way out. “You know what’s bullshit?”
Mom pulled a stool out and took a seat, watching medemolish another bite of pie with a slight smile on her face. “No, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”
I gave her a brief rundown of the conversation, and she listened without interruption.
“And what part of that is the bullshit?”
“The bullshit is that last parting shot about how I’m too smart to think Jax will change.” I dropped the fork in the aluminum pie tin and set my hands on my hips. “I never said I expected Jax to change. I’m not begging for his attention, but it’s like my feelings for him are a reflection of some weakness on my part. A character flaw that I should apologize for.”
Mom sat back, her eyebrows rising slightly as she gestured for me to continue.
“How many books have we read or movies have we watched where the hero pines for the heroine, and there’s no one for him but her? It’s so romantic and swoony, and we celebrate it,” I said fiercely. Oh yeah. I was worked up now. Pregnancy hormones flashed hot, and if someone gave me a mic, I would’ve brought the freaking house down preaching this to anyone who would listen. I waggled a finger in the air. “But if the woman can’t get a man out of her head, it’ssad. She’stoo smartfor that.”
Her eyes were wide, but she chose not to interrupt as I paced the length of the kitchen.
“The insinuation is that she’s being stupid for feeling those things in the first place! And it’s bullshit, Mom. Misogynistic bullshit.” I set my hands on my hips, my breaths coming in short, embarrassing pants. God, what a mess I’d be by forty weeks. Maybe I should start working out again if a little angry rant got me out of breath. “It’s like no one believes I can actually be friends with him. That I’m still sitting back hoping he’ll fall in love with me.”
Mom’s face softened. “And just to be clear, you’re not?”
“No,” I said firmly. “Breaking up with Dean was the right thing to do for many reasons, and only one of those reasons isthe way I felt about Jax. But those feelings don’t make me weak or stupid or silly.”
She leaned forward, eyes fierce. “No one thinks you’re any of those things.”
Something was comforting about hearing my mom come to my defense so thoroughly. It didn’t matter that she’d always done that with us and loved us so deeply that she always wanted to see the best in us.
Beyond that, everyone knew Sheila Wilder would call us on our bullshit so fast, it would make our heads spin. But she wasn’t calling me on this, which meant—unfortunately—I might have to call myself on it.
Hurt my own feelings. Just a little bit.
The words clawed their way out, past my flip-flopped stomach and a throbbing chest. “Maybe I worry those things are true about me,” I said, voice hardly more than a whisper.
