Page 134 of Until I Own You

“Well, if we’re not going to sell it, someone should enjoy it, right?”

My mother sighs. “Right. No. You’re right about that. I mean, we rent it out, it’s an investment. Not a burden.”

I know the property as a rental narrowly breaks even. We’re holding onto it because we don’t know how to let go of it.

“Well, you had your friends. I hope that they were able to support you if you were feeling…down.”

I laugh under my breath in a wry way.

Yes. Down. That’s a word for it.

My mom reaches out and strokes her fingernails through my hair. I’m taken aback, lifting my eyes from my tea to look at her.

There comes a point in life where you suddenly realize that your parents have gotten older. I’ve only had the privilege of that experience with my mother. All the thin wrinkles on her cheeks and the silvery strands of hair amidst her curls. Her kind blue eyes are the same. Her smile is the same.

The look on her face could break my heart if I let it.

“You know, you never visit me during the workday?”

I blink. “I don’t?”

“Don’t act surprised,” she says with a light laugh. “You’re busy. I know that. I just like when you go out of your way to see me. When it’s not family dinner. That feels like the only time I see you these days.”

Is that really true? Am I such a shitty son that not only am I disregarding my mother, but I also haven’t even realized it? “I’m sorry I haven’t been around.”

“I don’t need an apology, honey.” Her nails softly slide down my neck in a comforting motion. “I’m just so happy to see you.”

Her expression is so earnest.

The truth pounds at the seal of my lips. The desire to let it all go.

“Did Bridget enjoy it? I’ve always wanted to take her down there. I thought she’d like it.”

And there it is. She just walked right into the reason I’m here.

A reason for me. Not for her.

Dammit. I’m a shitty son.

My mother furrows her brow, removes her hand from my neck, and sits back in her chair. “Have a sip of tea, honey, you’re looking faint. Have you been eating?”

I watch her as she blows on her teacup.

I can’t hold the truth in a second longer. “I’m in love with Bridget.”

She freezes with the cup a centimeter from her lips. Her big, blue eyes turn to me. Her stare is not scathing or angered. It’s confused. Majorly confused. Which is more than reasonable. “Come again?”

“I’m…we’re…” I stare into the cup of red. “I love her.”

Mom puts her cup down into the saucer. “Wait, let’s think through this, honey. I know you’re close, I mean, we’re family.” She lets out an awkward laugh. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright these days?”

“It’s the truth,” I say. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“Well, uh, that’s different,” she says. “That we can talk about. But love? Are you sure, Seth?”

Fuck it. Lay it all out there. “We’ve been sleeping together.”

Now it’s my mother’s turn to go pale. She stares at me.

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