Page 84 of The Hero + Vegas = No Regrets

“I can’t wait for you to have kids. You would have loved this as a child. All three of you would.”

I snort out a laugh. “Kids? There’s no hint of that on the horizon.”

Mom pulls her attention from the Christmas scene and regards me. “What happened to that nice man who brought you to the hospital on Thanksgiving?”

It feels like someone wrapped a cloak around my heart, but instead of providing warmth, it’s tightening around it, threatening to stop its beating. “He deserves better than me,” I mumble.

“What on earth can you mean?” she asks. “You are a wonderful woman who would make an excellent wife and mother. You’re kind and loyal and clever. A little stubborn at times, but that’s not the worst trait to have. Means you don’t give up on the good stuff.”

“The good stuff?”

“You know, all your exams and stuff. You were a great student exactly because you were a little pigheaded. You never let anything beat you.”

I used to think I knew my mom almost as well as I knew myself. Now, I’m not sure if I know her at all. First putting up with my dad having another family in the next city over, and then calling me pigheaded?

“So what happened. Did you two get in a fight?”

I can’t imagine Worth ever being in a fight with anyone. Not physical or mental. He’s far too… stable. “No, but…”

“Then what? I thought he was very handsome. You two would have the prettiest babies.”

“Mom,” I groan.

“And it was so kind of him to come with you—traveling from New York to Cincinnati on Thanksgiving? I don’t know how one of you got a plane ticket, let alone two of you.”

If she thought Worth was nice before, the fact that he chartered a private plane to get me to my father’s hospital bedside would no doubt push her over the edge. She’d march me back to New York to marry him.

“He’s very kind.”

“Then what’s the problem? Why have you got it into your head that he deserves better? Who on this earth could be better than my daughter?”

I start to push the cart away and she grabs it and holds it in place, trying to catch my eye, while I look everywhere but at her.

“Sophia Amelia! Answer your mother.”

“I don’t know, Mom. How about he deserves someone who trusts that he’s the good man he seems to be? The kind of man who wouldn’t betray his wife and kids for over twenty years. How about a woman who doesn’t have a cheating father and a mother who put up with it for decades?”

As soon as the words are out, I regret them. I know my mom was just trying to do the right thing. But knowing she lied to me all these years doesn’t feel right. “I’m sorry?—”

My mom puts up a finger to stop me from finishing a sentence. “Don’t apologize for having your feelings about this whole situation. I get it. I’ve had plenty of feelings over the years, believe me. And I’m sorry for lying to you.” She sighs and shakes her head. “When your kids are little, you’re telling them so many lies, another one doesn’t seem so bad.”

“What other lies?” I shriek.

“Like Santa and the Tooth Fairy. And that’s just the start. All those toys that suddenly went missing and I blamed the Borrowers. When I said you were the best volleyball player on the team and Noah was an excellent violinist. We all lie to our kids, Sophia. We lie to save their feelings and to preserve their innocence as long as humanly possible.”

“But lies always get found out,” I say.

“Exactly, but the stakes are usually a lot lower, and as long as y’all are getting presents in your stockings, parents get forgiven.”

“It’s not the same,” I say. “You can’t equate lying about Santa with lying to your kids about who their father is.”

“Really?” She turns and pulls a box from the shelf underneath the setup of the model town. “I wanted you to believe in magic for as long as possible, Sophia. I wanted you to think your father hung the moon, because I wish he did. I wanted that for all of you. For all of me. Maybe I didn’t get it right. Your fatherdefinitelydidn’t get it right. But don’t give away a good man because you’ve seen the failings of another.”

She tips the box she’s holding into the cart.

“You’re going to buy the ice rink?” I ask.

She moves down the aisle slightly and pulls out another box. “I’m buying the whole darn town. I want a reason for my grandchildren to visit Cincinnati in the middle of winter.”

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