Page 21 of Big & Bossy

“Thank God you’re here,” I sighed, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her to me. “I didn’t want to subject some poor delivery guy to the frenzy out there.”

“Oh, honey, of course I’m here,” she cooed, dropping the bags at my feet and hugging me tightly. “Why didn’t you answer my calls yesterday?”

“I was too freaked out,” I sighed. I pulled away, getting a good look at her. I was her spitting image, just younger, right down to the bags under her eyes that told me she hadn’t slept well, either. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’ve got bigger problems than making sure your ma is kept up to date,” she chuckled.

She followed me as I picked up the bags and carried them to the kitchen. They were heavy, filled to the brim. How long was she expecting me to be trapped for? One by one, I started pulling the items from the bags, filling up my fridge as Mom sat at the breakfast bar.

“So, pardon my curiosity,” she started, resting her chin in her palms. “But is it true? What they’re saying, I mean.”

“No,” I sighed. “It’s not true, Mom. That’s the problem.”

“Can’t you just tell them that?”

“I’ve tried. The ones outside don’t believe me and I doubt that any others will.” Blueberries, freezer. Bread, counter. Yogurt, fridge.

“That guy you were with… his name sounds familiar,” she said, flipping open her phone. “Jackson Big?”

“He’s famous,” I explained, hoping to put a stop to that line of questioning before it went any further. I put what was left of the bags on the counter to sort later as I watched her study whatever photo she had up on her phone.

“No, I know that. But didn’t you date a Jackson in college?”

“No,” I lied.

She narrowed her eyes at me as she turned her phone around, a photo of me from ten years ago filling her screen, one arm around Jack’s waist and a smile as wide as the Pacific Ocean plastered on my face as I stared up at him.

“He was a friend.”

“Friends don’t look at friends like that,” she said simply, pushing her glasses up her nose as she locked her phone. “I used to look at your father that same way. I remember who he was to you. So be honest with me. Is it true?”

I sighed. I hated this, all of it. Even my own mother didn’t believe me. “No, Mom, it isn’t true. Yes, I dated him. No, we’re not together now. What I said in that video was meant as past tense.”

She pursed her lips together, her hands reaching out to grab mine like I’d done to Harry yesterday. “But you did love him at one point.”

“I don’t want to talk about that?—”

“You know,” she said, her hands squeezing mine as she locked eyes with me, “Sometimes I worry that the things I went through after losing your father affected you. I don’t want you to end up like me.”

“I’ve completed steps to make sure I won’t,” I deadpanned, letting go of her hands and standing up straight. “I can’t get hurt by love if I don’t let myself feel it.”

“I don’t want that for you, either,” Mom insisted. “A love like I had with your father is once-in-a-lifetime. If for a second you think you have that, you need to hold on tight to it.”

I couldn’t keep the scoff from crawling up my throat as I crossed my arms over my chest. “You think I love him? I detest everything about him. You know what he did to me. You know what I went through.”

“I do know that” she nodded, her eyes growing softer as she took in my defensive posture. “I think a lot of your anger and fear comes directly from the feelings you had for him back in college and how much he hurt you.”

“No,” I snapped. “What I felt for him then is completely gone now. He won’t ruin me. Not again.”

————

Mom agreed to stay the night with me. She watched out the front window as I gathered spare blankets and pillows for her to sleep on the couch, her eyes wide as she stared at the news crews and paparazzi still stationed outside.

“You can’t live like this,” she mumbled. “What are you going to do, Mandy?”

I sighed as I lifted the comforter high, spreading it across the plush sofa. “I don’t know. Jackson offered me a solution but I don’t know if I’m going to take it.”

She turned, brows furrowed. “What did he offer?”

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