Page 60 of Tongue-Tied

I mouth sorry to him over her shoulder when she digs a tissue out of her pocket.

“It’s okay,” Austin says. “Dex is a good listener, and he gives good advice.”

“Except when you don’t take it,” I quip, and the sentiment is aimed at Mom more than Austin.

He chuckles and squeezes Mom’s shoulder. “We’re all a work in progress.”

As she visibly relaxes, I realize he would’ve done a much better job consoling Mom. After so many years, I have little patience for it. But I’m also bummed that our date is officially ruined. Which reminds me.

I dig in my wallet and pull out the VIP ticket.

“Are you serious?” Austin asks. “When did you get this?”

“The other day. I wanted to surprise you with it.”

“Thank you.” His grin is so bright that I can’t help smiling back. “It’s definitely a surprise.”

“That was so sweet of you,” Mom says, kissing my cheek. “Listen, I’ve taken up enough of your time. Dex, you stay in line with Austin, and I’ll find my way back to campus and my car.”

“Mom—” I start, but she shushes me.

Before I can reason through her decision to leave, she’s already at the crosswalk to trek back alone, and I feel so conflicted.

“You need to catch up to her,” Austin says, nudging me. “And keep her company tonight. Man troubles or not, she’s your mom.”

I meet his eyes, gratitude pulsing through me that he gets it. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be fine, and I have this awesome, expensive VIP pass now, so I’ll be too busy to pay attention to you anyway.” He winks. “I’ll take a rain check on the third date.”

Without thinking, I buss a kiss on his lips, and then I’m jogging across the street to catch up to Mom. I look back before I reach her, and he throws me a quick wave that makes my stomach feel all funny.

We have dinner on the pier, and though Mom protests my appearance, I can tell she wants me there. Being so close to the beach seems to help clear her head a bit. Or maybe having someone to talk to does the trick. That same guilt tries to rise up, but I tamp it down.

“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” I ask a few hours later when we get to her car in the visitor lot.

“I’m sure.” She hugs me. “Thanks for hanging out with your mom.”

“Yep. Everything will be all right, it always is, and you’ll be able to move on from this Tim guy.” It’s the same speech I’ve recited for years, hoping someday it’ll register.

Mom pulls away. “Don’t you think I’m tired of always moving on?”

I shrug. “That’s why you’re a survivor.”

That part is true. After Dad left us, she did her best to make it work.

She rolls her eyes. “A survivor of broken hearts?”

I wince. “Maybe I’m wrong, but the problem might actually be with your gut.”

Her eyebrows knit together. “My gut?”

“Listening to it. It’s not perfect, but more times than not, you recognize the red flags and ignore them.” Mom averts her eyes, likely because she knows I’m right. “And I know it’s because you believe in love and good intentions and all that, but there’s got to come a point where you respect yourself enough to walk away.”

Fresh tears begin rolling down her cheeks, and I step forward. “I’m sorry if what I said?—”

“No, everything you said is true.” She swipes at her eyes with the tissue. “Instead of wondering if I’m right for them, I need to ask myself if they’re right for me.”

I smile. “That’s the spirit.”

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