Page 25 of Return To You

“I have no idea. I’ll look into it next week. Can we just watch movies now?”

“Sure.” As the opening credits roll, she fusses with the popcorn, the remote, Damian. Then she can’t handle it anymore. “Your tent looked busy, honey.” Her opening doesn’t fool me. “I couldn’t even sneak in to say hello. You did good.”

I keep my eyes on the screen. “Yeah. Hopefully people were happy, and they’ll book at the salon. Wherever that may be.”

“It’ll take time, like everything else.”

Right. And I might need to move.

Unable to hold it any further, she blurts, “I heard you saw Ethan.”

“I did.”

“And?” Her fingers hover over the remote, but she doesn’t pause the movie. Not yet.

I throw a piece of popcorn in my mouth. “And what?”

“How’s he doing?”

I shrug. “He pulled a muscle. I massaged his thigh. He should be fine. Gave him some arni—”

“I’m not talking about his thigh, Grace, although I’ve heard he’s… spectacular.”

“Ew, Mom!” I grab a handful of popcorn this time.

“Is he?”

“Is he what?”

“Spectacular.”

“Mom! Gross.”

She turns the sound off. “And why is it gross?”

“He could be your son?” As the words leave my lips, a little twist of pain unfurls in the depths of my fantasies. He could have been her son, in a way.

“I know he could be my son. I have a son. A very handsome son. Spectacular in his own way. I also have a gorgeous daughter. What’s gross about stating the obvious?”

I grab the remote from her and turn the sound back up.

She sighs in an exaggerated manner. Pretends to watch. Then, “You could at least tell me how it went, you know. It’d be nice for me to know.”

“It—it went… normal. He came in, got his massage, and left.”

“That’s it?”

I indulge her. “He came in limping and walked out totally normal. Next thing you know, Echoes is going to report your daughter performs miracles.” Echoes is Emerald Creek’s own social media platform, and lots of gossip gets spread there alongside useful information.

She reaches to pat my hand. “Don’t be so closed off, Gracie Bear. Let it out, sweetheart. You’re usually good with that.”

What am I going to let out? That tonight, I’ll fall asleep imagining how perfect life would be if Ethan had turned out to be who I imagined he would? I’m different. I’m weird. And that’s okay. Mom knows it. It doesn’t mean I have to openly disclose my bizarre ways of coping with life.

I’ll get over it.

I’ve gotten over way worse than Ethan pretending we were mere acquaintances.

This isn’t going to kill me.

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