Page 2 of Tell Me You Love Me

“I think Grandma Bitsy willwantto hug you. It’s important to remember that, sometimes, people do the things they’re accustomed to doing without thinking. She might even—”definitely will“—forget to ask, but you’re allowed to tell her no. It’s not wrong of you to expect personal space.”

“What if she gets mad at me?” He drags his eyes away from the view and meets mine in the mirror. “It’s rude to say no.”

“No. It’s rude to touch someone who doesn’t want to be touched.” I reach back and place my hand on the seat beside his leg, palm side up, and wait… wait… wait. Until finally, his little hand rests on top of mine. “This is going to be a learning experience for everyone, honey. You and Grandma are from different worlds, but you come from the same blood, so I think if we’re all patient with each other and communicate clearly, everything will be fine.”

He falls silent for a long moment, exhaling a long sigh and brushing his fingers along my wrist. My shoulder rejects the stretch and twist of my arm. My bicep aches after a minute. Two. Three. But I don’t dare take my hand back.

“People in New York don’t pick on me, Mom. We’re all kind of weird there. But Plainview isn’t like that. Plainview won’t like me.”

“I’ll stand in front of you.” My heart twists with the fears I’ve already considered. The worries that keep me awake at night. The paralyzingknowledge that he might be right. Plainviewisa small town where most of its residents are already retired or close to it, and just like I did, their kids ran just as soon as they could.

That town is not ready for a special little boy like my son. But we don’t have much of a choice in the matter, and I’ll be damned if I let them make him feel anything less than the incredible human he is.

“We’ll take it one day at a time.” I nibble on the inside of my cheek and ignore the second text from my best friend. Then the third. “And you’re not weird, honey. You’re the most intuitive, smartest, kindest human I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

“You’re my mom.” His cheeks warm in the mirror’s reflection. And his lips quiver. Though he’s careful not to let them curl too high. “Youhaveto say that.”

“No, I don’t. There’s no rule that says that. It’s not the law.”

He looks out the window again, his smile twitching to be freed.

“You’re going to change the world, Franky. And I’ll be right there with you, cheering so loud that you’ll want to ban me from every ceremony they invite you to. F,” I sing. “R. A. N. K. L. I. N. What’s that spell?”

“Mommmm…” he groans.

I stroke the side of his wrist and snicker when he drags his lips inside his mouth rather than admit he’s amused. “You’re gonna invent something amazing. Or discover something. Or cure something. Or write something.”

“Kinda like you. But you write looooove stories,” he teases. “The boy and the girl who fell in love and…” he trails off on what I swear sounds likeblah blah blah.“I’ll write a thesis on negatively charged subatomic particles and an object’s permanence.”

I shake my head and search the rearview mirror.He gets that brain from the paternal side of his family.“You’re nine, Franky. I’m twenty-eight. I don’t even know what subat?—”

“Doesn’t speak highly of the school you’re about to enroll me in.” He casts his eyes back out to the road, his fingers gently stroking my wrist. “You’re two decades older than me, but my education already outstripped yours.”

“Yikes.” I drive one-handed, fumbling to reach my turn signals and dismissing Fox’s next text as it pops up on my screen. “I should probably have hurt feelings, huh? That was a burn if I ever heard one.”

He laughs, though he does it so quietly, the sound barely travels to my ears.

“I made you with my body. So the fact is, your intelligenceis a reflection of mine. I can’t be burned by you because I created you. It’s in the rules.”

“That’s not true.” He kicks his shoes off and drags his feet onto the seat, folding them for comfort.We’ll be here for a while. May as well settle in.“You don’t get to keep my Nobel Prize just because we share DNA.”

“Mmhm.” I enjoy the way he so easily replaces the dread in my stomach with something so much better. Something sweeter and calmer and a hell of a lot more hopeful. “At the very least, I expect a mention in your acceptance speech. Something about how smart and wonderful I am, as a mother, a human being, a writer, a friend…”

“Can’t celebrate you as a writer if you never publish.”

Ouch!“Dude…”

“At this rate, I’ll be on shelves before you. When you catch up, we can compare and see who receives industry recognition first.”

“You’re mean.” I decline my best friend’s incoming call and settle in, knowing my shoulder will fall asleep soon and, with it, the pain of twisting my arm in the wrong direction. “I’ll publish. Eventually. I’m just waiting for the right time.”

“You have an offer,” he counters dryly. “You’re just a chicken. Will we do half the driving today and half again tomorrow?”

Change of subject, just like that.

“Which means we’ll arrive at Grandma’s at dinnertime?”

“That’s the plan. We could probably go slower, if you want. Break it up into three days. But I figure?—”

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