Page 85 of The Devil Wears Tartan

My mum jerks upright so fast I’m scared she’s going to hit her head against the wall.

“What are you talking about, honey? Of course you’re enough! You’re incredible. You’ve always been more than enough.”

My cheeks heat as I drop my gaze to my comforter. I run one of my fingers along the stitching.

I’ve never really told her this before.

“It’s just...you and Dad always told us we could be anything we wanted, that we should dream big, and...I mean, Anna went off to school in Toronto with like a bazillion scholarships and her own social media management business already built, and now Logan has his whole karate thing going on and won’t stop talking about how he can’t wait to go to Australia after high school, and I...I’ve never wanted anything like that.”

I look up and see her forehead crease as she stares at me. “Honey, you don’t need to do karate or be a social media manager or move somewhere far away. What makes you think that?”

A twinge of frustration makes me wrap my fist around the edge of the comforter.

“Everything!” I say, a little louder than I mean to. “Everything makes me think that. I’m supposed to want more, but I don’t, and I was finally starting to feel okay with that, but now...now I’m scared I only felt that way when I was around Kenzie.”

My mum lets out a long breath and stares at me for so long I have to glance away. She shuffles herself backward on the mattress until she’s resting her shoulders against the wall, right next to an old Lumineers concert poster I’ve had up for years.

“Maybe Kenzie helped you get there, and for that, I’m grateful to the girl, but nobody can take away what you know about yourself once you accept it as the truth.”

I make myself stay quiet and let her words settle deep in my chest.

I know the truth.

“Moira, when we told you to dream big, what we really meant was that you could dream of being anything—anything that made you happy. True happiness is never small or ordinary, no matter where it comes from.”

I let that one sink in too. I let myself imagine what it would mean if I accepted that as the truth too.

When she pats me on the shin and offers a gentle smile, I feel a sniffle coming on.

“Jeeze, mom,” I say after clearing my throat, hoping a joke will keep me from crying again. I’m really sick of crying. “You should get a job writing fortune cookies.”

She smacks my leg. “Eejit.”

We’re both smiling now.

I reach for the plate of cookies and offer her one before taking my own. I take a couple sweet, crumbly bites before I speak again.

“So you don’t think it’s, like, boring that my only real plans after I finish university are to keep working at the studio?”

She shakes her head and puts on a faux-stern expression. “That’s my studio you’re talking about, Miss Murray. Of course I don’t think it’s boring, and honestly, I don’t know what we’d do if you left. You make a real difference there, honey, for so many kids. You always have. I’m more proud of you than I can put into words, and I’ll keep telling you that as often as you want to hear it—probably even more than you want to hear it.”

My eyes start to get watery, and I blink rapidly as I whisper, “Thank you.”

She leans closer and drops her voice too. “I’m proud of you.”

My face cracks into a grin. “I know.”

She leans even closer. “Soooo proud.”

I roll my eyes but keep smiling. “Okay, Mum, I get it.”

She grabs onto my legs. “So, so, so, so proud!”

“You’re a lunatic!” I shout through my laughter as she starts tickling me.

She doubles her tickling efforts. “I’m your mother. It’s my job.”

“I’m gonna spill my tea!” I shriek as I squirm around on the mattress.

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