Page 13 of Love Rewritten

I focus on the ground, the cracks in the concrete sidewalk, and the swaying of the short lanyard attached to his key. “I think so. Or at least I’ll try. I know for a fact she’s not going to take it well. She loved Sam.Lovedhim. Or loved his money at least.”

“I’ve got money,” Dallas jokes, pulling the door open for me.

I smack his arm playfully as I search the mostly empty restaurant but find no sign of her yet. “I don’t know what she’ll be more upset about. The fact that I broke up with him and his money, or the fact that he’s abusive.”

“Surely, she’ll be more upset about the latter. Don’t you think? That would rattle anyone’s parents.” Dallas moves behind the bar, signing in on the computer. He starts setting up his station, making sure all the straws, lemons, and limes are stocked while I lean my shoulder against the edge.

“You don’t know my mom. She’s obsessed with money. Has been ever since my dad died.”

The front door opens with a chime overhead, and my mom walks in. She smiles when she sees me standing at the bar.

“Come on. I’ll get you guys a table.”

Dallas walks us over to a corner booth, a little more secluded from the main part of the restaurant. He sets down some menus and two full glasses of water.

“Dallas, thank you. Will you be joining us?” she asks, taking a sip of her water.

“No, ma’am. I have a bar to tend.” He nods his head back toward the bar where a few older men sit talking, beers in hand.

“Oh, you’re the bartender. How … fun.” She’s unamused, a slight look of disgust resting on her face as she eyes him and then the bar.

Dallas takes the comment rather well, simply smiling before saying, “Jen will be with you shortly.” He mouths good luck to me before heading back to the bar.

I take a few deep breaths and sip my water. There’s a short moment where I’m searching for anything to say to put off this conversation as long as possible. But my mom has other plans.

“So, how’s Sam?” she asks quickly.

Another deep breath. I avert my gaze to my lap, searching desperately for the right words to say. “Sam is …” I start but stop suddenly, swallowing the knot in my throat. I grip my glass of water with both hands as the condensation wets my palms. I can’t keep dancing around the truth. “We broke up,” I say quickly before I can stop myself.

My mom almost spits her water out as she sets the glass back on the table. She presses a hand to her chest.

“Broke up? What? Why? When?” she asks, her voice getting louder with each question.

I wipe my hands on my pants. “Things were … not working out.” I will my heart to slow but the look on my mom’s face causes my insides to churn.

Her face tightens, a scowl now lacing her features. “I’m going to need more than that, Abigail. You two were so good together. He’s been good to you. He’s provided for you. For me even.” There's an appalled distaste to her words that clings to my name.

I clench my fists under the table so hard my nails dig into my palms. “It was never going to work between us. Things were going downhill. Even if you couldn’t see it.” I’m trying to explain this as delicately as possible.

Her eyes dart around our surroundings before landing on me, and her brows knit together in confusion. “I don’t understand. You two seemed so happy, especially at our last family dinner. And he got a promotion. Doesn’t that count for something? He’s been busy with work. Maybe that’s the problem. He’s trying to create a future for you, for us.”

I can’t hold back a scoff or the way my head falls back against the booth. “This has nothing to do with you, Mom.” Again, with the money talk. My blood slowly begins to boil.

She leans forward, sitting up straighter. “Of course, it does. He’s been a part of the family for almost two years. You’re just going to throw that away? For what? A bartender?”

“He was hitting me, Mom! He sent me to the hospital!” I yell louder than I wanted, but it’s too late. And as the last of her comment sinks in, I realize she's picked up on the unspoken truth, too.

The outburst spilled from me unwillingly, the entire restaurant an unwanted audience. Dallas has stopped all movement. All eyes on me. And I can’t stop the tears now streaming down my face. The knot has returned to my throat. The shaking of my balled fists. All of it crashes through me like a gut punch from Sam all over again.

My mom presses her back against the red cushion behind her, eyes wide. She doesn’t say anything as she processes my frenzy. “That medical bill …” she trails off.

“Yes. It’s from the hospital,” I sigh, my voice almost a whisper. I stare at the glass of water in front of me. The restaurant has mostly gone back to their usual conversations. Everyone except Dallas whose eyes are trained on me, my every move, my every breath.

She takes a deep breath and then looks at her hands in her lap. “How long?” she asks quietly. I sense some anger laced in those words.

I swallow. “A year.” My voice almost breaks with those two words.

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Her brows are drawn together as she closes her eyes and takes a long, drawn-out breath. Her next words are too calm. “You’ve been lying to me for a year?”

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