Page 98 of With a Cherry On Top

“She’s twenty-three.”

Mom lets out a low whistle, shaking her head. “Aaron, honey, that’s...quite the gap.”

“I know.”

She studies me for a long moment, tilting her head slightly. “Youlikeher.”

“I—” I start, but she gives me a look. The kind only a mother can give, that saysDon’t even think about lying to me.

“Yeah. I do.”

She picks up a loose crumb on the table. “And does she like you back?”

I think of Charlotte’s teasing smirks, how she gets under my skin like it’s her favorite pastime. How she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention—like I’m something she doesn’t want to want, but can’t help herself.

“I think she does,” I admit quietly. “In her own way.”

Mom’s fingers find mine. “Then what are you so afraid of?”

Everything.

“Though sheissingle, there are other factors that make it complicated.”

“Well, dear, whoever said love is simple wasn’t paying attention. People are complicated, therefore so are relationships.”

“Yes, but after everything that happened with Josie?—”

“That’s in the past,” she cuts me off.

“But it’s not. I’ve worked so hard to earn back Logan’s respect—I still am. If he found out about this, he wouldn’t understand.”

Her shoulders slump. “Different dads, and my sons are equally stubborn. It oughta be studied.”

“Really?” I muse. “You can’t findanyexplanation for it?”

She playfully smacks the side of my head. “Don’t you use that tone with your mother.”

When I raise a hand in defeat—and self-defense—she points a finger at me. “You listen to me, Aaron Coleman. We are afamily. We don’t keep score, or use past mistakes to harm each other. Your brother isn’t quite ready to forgive you yet, maybe, but he’ll get there. You need to live your life knowing that if you fall, your family will catch you. That here,” she says as she holds a hand to her chest, “you’ll always find support and love.”

I squeeze her hand over the table.

“Thank you, Ma.” This is all true when it comes to her or Darren. But Logan? There’s too much hurt for that. Too much history to ignore.

Mom leans back in her chair, tilting her head like she’s watching a movie play in her mind. “This reminds me of Mr. Bubbles’s death.”

I blink. “The goldfish?”

She nods. “You were, what, ten? And you decided it was your fault he died because you forgot to feed him one morning. Never mind that you fed him so much every other day, I’m pretty sure he went into cardiac arrest from overeating. You spent a whole week in mourning.”

I nod, vaguely remembering the fish but almost tasting the sense of guilt I felt back then. “What does Mr. Bubbles have to do with anything?”

“You gave him a funeral in the backyard, remember that? You and Logan wore suits, and you made me officiate. And then, instead of flushing him down the toilet like a normal person, you insisted on giving him a Viking funeral in the kiddie pool. Complete with a Popsicle-stick boat and a candle.”

I stare at her. “Let me guess. I almost set the farm on fire?”

She grins. “Oh no, honey. Youtriedto set a fire. The boat just kind of...sank immediately. And you cried harder because now you thought you’d drowned Mr. Bubbles.”

Right, right. I believe the term being thrown around was “re-murdered.”

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