Page 84 of The Devil Wears Tartan

“Come on, sweetie,” she says, pulling back once my breathing has evened out. “Drink your tea.”

She leads me to my bed, and I give in to the experience of being taken care of, letting the love on her face surround me like a second hug. She hands me the steaming mug of black tea, the sweet scent of milk and sugar wafting off it, and sets my cookies down on my bedside table before perching herself at the end of my blankets.

“Shortbread, Mum?” I say, aiming for a joke even though my voice is still all watery. “Could we be even more stereotypically Scottish?”

“Aye, lassie. That’s enough out of you,” she says in a feigned Scottish accent as she reaches over to give my thigh a playful slap. “Drink yer tea, ya goose.”

I take a sip, letting the familiar mix of bitter and sweet settle on my taste buds. My shoulders relax even more.

My mum picks up the spare throw blanket strewn between us and keeps herself busy folding it, humming a little as she does. I can tell she’s letting me set the pace and decide if I want to talk or not.

As I stare at the familiar lines creasing her face and pick up on the song she’s humming—the bagpipe accompaniment for the sword dance, because of course—some of Kenzie’s words from that awful drive to her apartment filter through my mind.

You don’t get it. You have a perfect family full of love and being there for each other.

She was right. Maybe not about the perfect part, because god knows no family is perfect, but I can’t deny I’ve always felt love in this house. I’ve always known someone will be around to comfort me any time I’ve needed to ask.

I can’t understand what it might be like to go without that, but I could have tried. She could have let me try.

She could have turned towards me instead of running away. I would have shown her what it’s like to have someone be there for you.

“We weren’t just friends,” I blurt.

My mum’s just set the folded blanket down next to her, and she goes still for a moment before smoothing out a crease in the soft fabric. Then she nods.

“I thought that might be the case.”

I was such a mess after coming home from Kenzie’s place that I told her all about the overdose and Kenzie not wanting to talk to me anymore. I’m not sure how much she actually pieced together given how hard I was sobbing, but I know I didn’t mention why I was out with Kenzie. I wasn’t ready to get into it yet.

Then again, she is my mom, and she did catch me sneaking a full table and chair set out of the house to have a nice meal with my ‘friend.’

“I don’t understand how she could just...just cut me out so fast, after everything...”

My mum sighs and moves a little closer so she can pull my feet into her lap. “I know you’re hurting, Moira. Just remember it’s only been a few days, and Kenzie has been through a lot in a very short time. I expect she’s doing what makes her feel safe by shutting you out, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to do it forever.”

I shake my head. “I get what you’re saying, but...you weren’t there. You didn’t see her. You didn’t hear her when she...when she left.”

A chill runs up my spine, and I shiver as I think back to how cold she sounded, like every trace of the Kenzie I’ve gotten to know over the past few months was gone.

“If I thought this was just her being overwhelmed by the overdose, that she just needed some time to herself, of course I’d understand that, but she...I don’t think she’s coming back to me, Mum. I think I’ve lost her.”

She starts rubbing her thumb over one of my ankles, watching me with a pained look on her face, like she’d take all my hurt and make it her own if she could.

My heart feels like it’s cracking open when I realize Kenzie’s mom might be too sick to give that same look to her daughter. If what she’s said in the car is anything to go by, Kenzie’s always been the one taking on everyone else’s pain.

“You don’t know that, sweetie,” my mum says. “Give her a little time.”

Another protest rises in my throat, but there’s no point in letting it out. Either way, all I can do is wait. I wrap my arms around myself and hunch forward, bracing against the thoughts I’ve been pushing down for days.

I’m scared to lose her, but the truth is I’m also scared of losing myself.

“Have you ever been with someone who made you feel like you could do anything?” I ask, my eyes on my mum’s thumb as she keeps rubbing my ankle. “Like, when you’re around them, you feel better about yourself?”

She’s quiet for a moment, and then she nods. “That’s how I’ve felt every day I’ve been a mom. That’s how I felt when I fell in love with your father, too—after he stopped being an eejit, of course.”

We both chuckle; the story of my dad transforming from some kind of pint-swigging, log-tossing playboy of the highland games into someone my mum actually wanted to give the time of day to is a family favourite.

“I think that’s how I felt about Kenzie,” I admit, “or at least how I was starting to feel. For the first time in months, I was back to feeling good about myself. Well, actually, it was more than that. I wasn’t back to feeling how I used to. I felt new—different, in the best way possible. It was like I was finally starting to feel like I was good enough just being me.”

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