Page 54 of Mason

“I took the bus,” she says. “It was terrifying. The least you could do is hear me out.”

“Fine,” I say, exhausted. I’m pissed at her, but more than that, I’m hurt. And no one is better at soothing my pain than Mom. “One hour,” I say. “But don’t expect any miracles.”

Chapter 31

My mother is trying to be upbeat, but it’s forced.

“I thought we could go to your apartment,” Mom says, trying a weak smile. “I haven’t seen it.”

I’ve always been nervous to show her my modest home, knowing she would feel guilty for all the things she could never provide after Dad left. I’m tempted to drag her there now, to show her what I’ve scraped together without her help. But it would feel like a violation of my personal space now, because even if I forgive Mom, I’ll never allow my father back in my life.

Not even if he got on his knees and begged.

“My home isn’t close,” I say, deliberate with my words. With my father back in the house, it’s unlikely my childhood home will ever be more than a distant memory.

“It would be nice to see Renee,” she says.

My eyes shimmer. “She doesn’t live there anymore.” I swallow hard. “She moved out. Right after I told her about Dad.”

Mom folds her napkin and sets it on the table. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Why did you take him back, Mom?” I say, diving in. I drop my voice to a harsh whisper, aware we’re in a crowded restaurant. “After everything he’s done to us…to you. I don’t get it.”

Mom’s smile slips a little. “It’s complicated, Liv.”

I toss my napkin on the table and lean back in the chair, arms crossed. “Seems pretty simple to me.”

She reaches across the table, grasping for my hand. I keep them tucked into my chest, unwilling to give her what I know we both crave—the connection that bound us in hard times. I need her now, more than I can admit.

My thoughts turn to Mason and another flash of anger goes through me. “Dad left you for another woman,” I say, as if she’s somehow forgotten my dad’s list of sins. “Had a child with someone else, while you were still married.”

“We got together when we were young,” Mom says. “We were just kids. How could we have known what we wanted back then?”

I resist the knee-jerk instinct to call Mom on her bullshit. My parent’s origin story is pretty much a fairytale—high school sweethearts, pregnant right out of college, first house, first car. It got messy, Dad left.

Who ever heard of a second chance at Happily Ever After with your original prince?

Mason’s words come back to haunt me. I swallow a sip of water and stare at the bartender at the back of the room. He flips a cocktail glass over on the counter, tosses two bottles of colored liquid in the air, catches them, and pours a drink, which he then lights on fire. Figures Mom would choose this place, a restaurant known for its smoke and mirrors.

“You should have fought harder,” I say, blinking through tears. “Before he left. Why didn’t you know something was wrong in your relationship?”

Did she miss the signs?

“Liv, is something else bothering you?”

I avert my gaze. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” I cup my hands around the warm coffee cup, and run my thumb over the ridge. “What about that guy…Larry, or whatever? He seemed nice.”

Mom cracks a huge grin. “Now I know something is bothering you,” she says, chuckling. “You hated him.”

Hate is probably too strong a word, but Mom’s right—he wasn’t exactly a Knight in Shining Armor. Seems that particular kind of guy is in short supply these days, no matter what the movies portray. Still, Larry didn’t cheat, and he didn’t try to be someone he wasn’t.

Mom leans forward and waits for me to look up. When our eyes meet, I find the mom I’ve missed, and it almost brings me to tears. “Come on sweetie,” she says. “Tell me what’s going on.”

My resolve cracks and I spill everything about Mason—laying it all on the table for her to judge, to assess. She listens carefully, occasionally interrupting with a question, or to soothe with a comforting word. I leave out the personal stuff, and the Mason’s secrets—I would never betray his trust—but I don’t hold back when it comes to my feelings.

“I love him,” I say, sobbing into my sleeve.

Mom takes my hand in hers and rubs her thumb over my skin. “It’s going to be okay,” she says. “Whatever happens, you will be okay.”