Page 112 of The Most Perfect Wrong

She’s a saint.

She holds me for what feels like forever until the storm inside me finally starts to settle. I take a deep breath, sitting up and wiping at my face.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“Don’t apologize, sweetie. I’m your mom. As much as I hate seeing you like this, I love being able to comfort you… I wish you’d let me more often.” She pauses, her eyes full of concern. “Tell me what’s going on.”

I focus on my fingers, pushing at my cuticles. “I broke up with Brad,” I whisper, unable to make eye contact.

“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry… Did something happen?”

I glance at her briefly, a scoff slipping out before I can stop it. “Yeah, something happened. He’s an asshole.”

Her gaze burns into the side of my face. I don’t know what she’s thinking—I’ve never known what my mom thinks of Brad. She’s never said anything, just quietly supported whatever I decided.

“Is it for good this time? You’ve broken up a few times before…” Her voice trails off.

“It’s for good this time,” I say firmly, finally meeting her gaze. “I need somewhere to live until I find my own place. And I was hoping…”

She cuts me off before I can finish. “You don’t even have to ask. You know you can stay here anytime you want.”

I force a smile. “Thanks. I won’t be here much, but I need a place to keep my things.”

Her brows furrow again, concern etched on her face. “Where will you be?”

I exhale. “I’m… sort of seeing someone.”

Her expression shifts from confusion to doubt. “So soon?”

I sigh, annoyed. “It’s not like that, Mom. We work together. I’ve known him a long time.”

“Did you have an affair?”

“Ugh!” I groan, throwing my hands up. “Are you really going to lecture me about affairs?” My tone comes out sharper than I intended, but I can’t help it.

She looks taken aback, clearly offended. “You know what I went through with your father. I’d hate to think you’d ever do something like that.”

I laugh bitterly, the frustration spilling over. “Are you serious, Mom? What about me? What about Brad cheating on me for five fucking years?”

She flinches, and I can’t tell if it’s from the information or the delivery—probably both.

“Cooper, please don’t use that word in my house—it’s not necessary.” She rubs her temples, her tone weary. “I don’t want to fight with you. And I don’t want to make you feel guilty.” She takes a sip of her water, calm and collected, as I gape at her. “All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

“Then why don’t you ask me if I’m happy instead of judging me and assuming the worst, like you always do?”

She exhales, her frustration mirroring mine. “Are you happy, honey?”

“No.” My voice trembles. “No, I’m not happy. I haven’t been happy since I was fourteen.” The words hang heavy in the air, and my chest tightens. “But when I’m with Ryan? I feel… glimpses of happiness. It’s the first time in my life that I think maybe I could be happy. He’s like nothing I’ve ever had and everything I could ever hope for.” My voice cracks, tears threatening again. I soften, willing her to understand. “I didn’t cheat on Brad… but I… crossed some lines. But only because I felt so trapped.”

My mom’s silent for a moment, and I brave her gaze, expecting judgment. But all I see is concern.

“I never liked Brad,” she says softly, her voice tinged with regret. “I didn’t want to push you away by saying it, but I saw through his crap from the beginning. I’m just worried this Ryan guy might be the same. You know, getting involved with you while you were engaged—it’s not a good sign. That worries me.”She frowns. “Your picker’s broken, Cooper. Always has been. And I blame myself for that—for not showing you what a healthy relationship looks like.” She pauses, sipping her water. “I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you.”

Her words hit me in waves, stirring up a tangle of emotions: anger, relief, understanding, compassion, love. Maybe Mom’s right to worry. My “picker”hasalways been broken, and a part of me still can’t shake the nagging doubt that Ryan’s too good to be true. But I don’t want to ruin this by letting my doubts take over me.

“If you knew about Brad,” I say bitterly, “why didn’t you ever talk to me about it? Why would you just sit there and let me suffer in silence?”

My mom sighs, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Oh, Coop. I mentioned something a long time ago, when you were first dating.” She shakes her head. “You haven’t listened to me since you were twelve, and you weren’t exactly receptive to it. And hey, I get it—I’ve been there. But instead of destroying our relationship trying to get you to see what was in front of you, like many of my friends did to me, I chose to support you from a distance.”

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