Page 23 of Holly Ever After

My heart sinks into my stomach. I should tell her. Get it over and done with. “Mom—”

“We all have our rough patches, honey. God knows me and your father have seen our fair share, but you power through. You were about to marry the man. You must have loved him.”

“I did,” I whisper feeling that familiar burn in my chest. “I did love him.”

“I can’t even count how many times I stayed awake at night imagining my little girl in my wedding dress.”

Tears form in my eyes as a boulder size lump of guilt settles in my stomach. It was always my dream to take my mom’s dress and redesign it for my wedding. We had so many plans.

And Adam ruined all of them.

I try to smile but it falters. “Don’t count me out yet. Just because I’m not marrying Adam doesn’t mean I will never get married.”

She exhales, leaning against the counter. “I know, sweetie. But sometimes…” She pinches her lips together as if pondering if she should say what she’s about to say. My mom has never been one to hold back and she’s not going to start now so I brace myself for impact. “You just… you tend to run from things when you’re scared.”

Grant me patience.

“That’s called instinct, mother. It’s not a flaw.”

My fight or flight has always leaned towards flight.

“You never told me what happened between you two.”

I hum and haw like I’m about to break into song. She’s also holding a large knife that makes me reluctant to breathe a word of what Adam did. My mother might be a little overbearing but she’s protective to a fault.

“He… um—”

Dad appears in the kitchen doorway, his expression half apologetic, half exasperated. “Can't find the bigger screws,” he announces, like it's a national tragedy. Mom merely hands him a bowl of salad and shoos him back to the dining area before turning her expectant gaze back to me.

“It just didn’t work out,” I say because I’m a coward, and that knife is razor sharp.

A part of me wonders if she already knows. My mother has this weird superpower of being able to read me better than I can myself. I’m convinced of it when her lips quirk, her shoulders drooping like she was holding her breath for my answer.

“Well,” she says, a smirk tilting on her red painted lips as she returns to cooking. “Like I said, you and Sean are getting along better.”

“Oh God.” I roll my eyes. “Don’t read too much into it. He’s fixing my house. I need to be nice to him. We’ll be back to contemplating murder soon.”

“Well, at least you didn’t pour the wine over his head this time.”

“The night is still young.”

Now it’s her turn to roll her eyes. “I knew when I went into labor with you on Christmas Eve that you were always going to be dramatic.”

She continues with a story I’ve heard a thousand times. How her waters broke on my Grandpa’s shoes as they were about to have family dinner. How my father ran every red light and sprinted into the hospital screaming that his wife was having a baby but forgot that wife and left her in the car in the middle of all the chaos. She tells me how she stayed up all night and into Christmas day while in complete agony. And how I didn’t arrive until one minute before the clock struck twelve. I just made it on time to have my birthday on Christmas Day.

Even when she’s finished, I can sense her unasked questions, her unsaid worries dancing in the silence between us. I know she cares, maybe too much sometimes, and the knowledge that she is restraining herself from delving deeper makes me love her even more. But right now, I’m thankful for the temporary reprieve, for the breath of air before diving back into the swirling emotions waiting for me in the silence.

∞∞∞

In the middle of dinner, little Mia is attempting acrobatics from her chair before my father sweeps her into his arms. “Careful or you’ll end up like your aunt here with your little arm in a cast for six weeks.” He chuckles, winking over at me.

The room erupts into laughter, and I can feel my face turn scarlet. “Dad, seriously? You had to bring that up?”

Mark joins in, “Oh man, how could we forget? You tried to impress us by jumping off the treehouse and ended up with a broken arm.”

Sean's eyes are on me. “Not just a broken arm. She screamed like a banshee and blamed me for daring her, remember?”

“Oh, I remember.” I glare at him. “You told me I was too chicken to do it. 'Just a quick jump, Squirt,' you said. 'What could go wrong?'“

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