Page 121 of The Honeymoon Hack
Evelyn had chosen well—not that it was a surprise, as Brie’s mother didn’t do anything halfway, especially when it came to people she cared about. The facility had none of the institutional feel I’d initially feared when Evelyn first called to say she’d found a place for Mum.
“You okay?” Brie asked, squeezing my hand.
“If she’s having a good day?—”
“Stop with the ifs. We’ll handle whatever comes up.”
I stared at her, my fingers intertwined with hers, and thought back to the last time we’d been here. My mother had thought we were our parents, and shared that she’d always thought we belonged together. I’d been mortified, afraid she’d tell Brie—thinking it was her mother—about all the times I’d spoken about her while I was in London. About how much I’d missed her.
But Brie? She’d been perfectly pleasant, holding me together when I couldn’t do it myself.
“I love you,” I whispered.
“Same,” she whispered back.
We headed inside, where the receptionist pointed us toward a common area on the main floor. As we rounded the corner, I stopped short, surprise momentarily freezing me in place. My mother sat on a plush couch at a coffee table. Next to her, Evelyn Reynolds sat, both of them laughing over what appeared to be a scrapbook.
“Your mother’s here?” I asked Brie unnecessarily, my voice low.
Brie nodded, looking equally surprised. “I didn’t know she was visiting today.”
We approached the sitting area, hand in hand.
Evelyn’s gaze fell to our joined hands, a knowing smile spreading across her face.
“Look at this,” she said to my mother, nodding toward us. “I told you twenty years ago, Diane, those two were perfect for each other.”
My mother looked up, her eyes bright and clear—a good day, then. She shook her head. “Oh, Evie,I’mthe one who toldyouthat.”
Brie and I glanced at each other. After all my anxiety about how to tell her, this was… anticlimactic, to say the least. She pushed the scrapbook to Evelyn’s lap and stood, arms wide for hugs, which we happily gave her.
“Will, darling, what happened to your forehead?” Mum sat as Brie and I took the sofa opposite them. “And Brie, sweetheart, your poor cheek.”
“We had a bit of an accident,” I said, keeping it vague.
“Nothing serious,” Brie added quickly.
Mum didn’t look entirely convinced. Her gaze dropped to our hands again, and she frowned slightly. “And tan lines on your ring fingers? Is there something else I should know?”
Shit. This was one of herreallygood days.
“We were down south for work and needed to blend in,” Brie explained, smoothly picking a cover story I hadn’t thought about. “The wedding bands helped avoid unwanted attention.”
My mother’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you sure there isn’t more to tell me?”
“One step at a time, Mum,” I said with a smile, interlacing my fingers with Brie’s.
Her face lit up. “Finally! How long do I have to wait for more grandchildren?”
“Mum!” I protested, even though I’d been thinking about the same thing only a couple of hours earlier.
A crimson blush climbed Brie’s throat. She pointed at the scrapbook. “What are you looking at?”
“Your Auntie Diane and I took a scrapbooking class together about ten years ago.” Evelyn placed the scrapbook on the coffee table between us. “We were talking about old times and how things change.”
On the open page were photos of Brie and me at twelve, chocolate cake smeared across both our faces at my birthday party. I turned a few more pages filled with our family photos until I found a picture of our high school graduation, with both of our families posed together.
Brie’s hand found mine. What was she thinking? Was she mentally placing her father in that photo? He was the only one missing.
