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The walk back to the car takes far less time than it took to gettothe overlook, and before I know it, we’re hopping into Busy’s SUV and pulling out onto the main road, the windows down. I close my eyes, tilting my face up to the sun, enjoying the way it feels as it warms my face.
But that simple, easy calm I feel dissipates when my eyes lock on the black Mazda parked next to my truck as we pull down the gravel lane back to the cabins. Instead, dread fills my body.
I must sigh louder than I realize, because when Busy comes to a stop on her parking pad, she reaches out and touches my shoulder in a gentle caress.
“Everything okay?” she asks, her voice soft.
Nodding, I give her a pinched smile, trying to ignore how nice it feels to have her hand on my arm. “Yeah. It’s just…my mom is here.”
Busy’s eyes glance past me, through the window and over toward where my mom’s car is parked.
“She’s just…not who I want to see today. Which I know makes me sound like an ass and a horrible son, but…”
“No need to explain,” she interjects, patting me gently. “I’m not judging, trust me. Mothers are hard.”
I rub at my perpetual five o’clock shadow, trying to decide how I want to handle this. But before I can even begin to come up with a plan, I see my mother emerge from the backside of the house. She was probably sitting on my deck, something she’s done in the past when she’s just…shown up unannounced.
“You’ve got this.”
I glance over at Busy, who is looking at me with eyes filled with encouragement and care. Chuckling at her sweetness and sincerity, I nod then push open my door.
“There’s my sweet boy!” my mom says as she walks my way, a wide smile stretched across her face.
“Hi, mom.” I rise out of the passenger seat, my long frame looming over hers. “Fair warning: I’m a little sweaty.”
“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” she says, wrapping her arms around my middle and giving me a squeeze. “What matters is that I get to see my baby. It feels like it’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”
I don’t tell her ithasbeen a while, mostly because I don’t want to imply that she should come around more often. But even as I think it, I feel a piercing sense of shame for how I’m thinking about the woman who raised me, who loved me, who showered me with attention and encouragement growing up.
With everything we’ve been through, it’s just hard to see her sometimes.
“I gave you a call once I got here, but it went straight to voicemail,” she says, stepping back, her eyes flicking over to where Busy is coming around the front of the car. “And who is this?”
I can feel my mom suddenly vibrating with excitement at the sight of me with a woman, and I know I’ll have to be swift and clear with her that nothing has changed. I’m stillsingle and still plan to stay that way.
“Hi, Mrs. Cohen. Good to see you. My name’s Busy, I’m—”
“Patty’s baby girl, oh my goodness!”
Mom throws her arms wide and envelopes Busy in a hug as well. Busy’s eyes widen, and she looks at me with both surprise and amusement. When my mother pulls back, she holds Busy by her biceps, her eyes assessing.
“I can’t believe it’s you! You’ve grown so much, and into such abeautifulyoung woman, too.”
Busy blushes, and I can’t help the pang of jealousy at the freedom my mother has to tell Busy something I’ve been thinking since the moment I laid eyes on her.
I round the back of the SUV, raising the rear door to let Sydney hop out.
“Well…thank you, Mrs. Cohen, I…”
“Oh, call me Tabitha, please.” She swats at the air between them.
“Okay. Thank you, Tabitha.”
Mom looks back at me. “Honey, I’m in town for a few days staying at South Bank—just wanted to see you before things get crazy for the holiday—and I booked a table for us at Dock 7.”
I’m not exactly surprised by the fact that my mom is staying at the resort, but it’s still a stark reminder of how many things have changed over the past few years. Growing up, my mother wouldneverhave spent that kind of money. She was frugal to her core. So was my dad.
Now, though…well, things are different, I guess.
