Page 108 of The Last Call Home
She tilts her head slightly.Her lips press together like she’s solving a puzzle she’s just now realizing was always there.
“Are Mal and Cass dating too?”
“Exactly.”
Mom stares at me.One beat.Two.
It’s like her brain needs a moment to sync the data.I want to move, shift the energy, give her room—but I wait.I let her catch up, let her form the words she’ll say next.Her silence feels loaded, not with judgment but with careful thought.As if she’s sorting through every interaction, every sideways glance, every quiet conversation she’s witnessed over the years.
And then she says it.
“Yeah.I see it now.”She nods, slow and thoughtful.“How did I miss it?”
There’s no heat in her voice.Just acceptance.Like love has always been complicated, and maybe that’s okay.
“If the town gives you grief,” she says, stepping closer, “you let me know.At least since Pastor Moreau is gone they’ve stopped being so sanctimonious.But ...”she waves a hand like swatting at a fly, “there’s still an ignorant soul or two lurking in this town.”
I don’t realize how tense I’ve been until I’m moving—into her arms, into the warmth I’ve known since birth.
I hug her, and she doesn’t hesitate.She holds me like she’s trying to convince herself I’m still real, still here, still hers.Her hand strokes my back the way it used to when I couldn’t sleep after Grandma died.She smells like cinnamon and prayers and too much perfume.
She’s my home.
Even when she’s dousing me in holy water and matchmaking mid-crisis.
“You’re the best, Mami,” I whisper into her shoulder.
She holds me tighter, one hand smoothing over my hair like she used to when I was little and had nightmares.Her perfume clings to my skin—floral, strong, and so familiar.Her heartbeat pounds quick and uneven.She's still trembling a little.But so am I.
“Of course I am,” she sniffs, pulling back just enough to cup my cheek.“Now go wash your hands—we need to have breakfast and figure out how we’re going to give everyone their daily pastries and coffee.”
In her world, cinnamon rolls, conchas, and croissants are sacred, and routine prevents the grief from consuming us completely.I laugh, the sound cracking through the fog in my chest like sunlight breaking through the smoke.
For a second, just one?—
I forget the flames licking up the walls of everything I built.
I forget the fear that still lingers in the corners of my mind.
I forget how close I came to losing it all.
And I remember.
I remember who I am.
And who I’m fighting for.
ChapterForty-Six
Lilah:I told Mom we’re dating.
Mal:Should I run?
Cass:Yep, this is a heads-up so we can plan our escape.I’ll get us new IDs.We’re bringing you with us, Lilah.
Lilah:No, she’s okay with us.Told me to tattle if anyone is being judgmental.She’ll take care of them.
Mal: I ...that’s different.
