Page 70 of Falling For Us Again

BITTERNESS

Dylan

When I turn to glance at Jenna, I see my mother with her, and a chill runs through me. Behind that poised elegance is a coldness and meanness that flares up whenever Jenna’s around.

I can tell that my mother’s already gotten a few jabs in, because Jenna looks stiff as a board, clutching the bouquet so tightly her knuckles are turning white.

Her eyes dart around, like she’s searching for an exit but doesn’t know how to break away. My chest tightens.

I’ve had enough.

As I approach, I can see a shift take place in Jenna. Something about her is different now. Stronger. She doesn’t shrink back. Instead, she faces my mother with a calm, look on her face, like she’s untouchable, immune to whatever barbs my mother throws her way.

Her chin is lifted, her shoulders square. She’s eating the chips like she doesn’t have a care in the world, and I almost smile at the look on my mother’s face.

But I can’t let this continue.

I know what my mother is capable of—how she can slip in those cutting words that tear you down without you even realizing it until later, when you’re lying in bed replaying the conversation over in your mind.

I need to stop this before it goes any further.

When I reach them, I can feel the tension crackling in the air like static, prickling at my skin. I step in front of Jenna, positioning myself between her and my mother like a shield.

“Mom,” I say, trying to keep my voice level, but there’s an edge to it I can’t hide. “Let’s not do this here.”

My mother’s gaze flicks up to me, and for a moment, something unreadable flashes in her eyes—surprise, maybe? Or is it disappointment? I don’t know.

She’s always been so good at keeping her emotions locked away behind that perfectly composed mask. But then, just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by that cool, detached expression I know all too well.

“Dylan,” she says, her tone clipped, “I was just having a conversation with Jenna. Surely, that’s not a crime.”

“It’s not,” I agree, trying to keep things calm. “But this isn’t the time or place for whatever it is you’re trying to say.”

She lifts a perfectly shaped brow, the corners of her lips curving into a faint smile. “And what exactly do you think I’m trying to say?”

I glance back at Jenna, who has turned away from us and is at the counter, the packet of chips in hand. She turns, and her eyes meet mine for a brief second, and I see something there—something guarded, something hurt but buried deep.

“I don’t know,” I say, turning back to my mother, “but whatever it is, it can wait.”

My mother studies me for a moment longer, her gaze flickering between me and Jenna. She looks amused, and a resignation flashes in her eyes before she shakes her head. “Very well, Dylan,” she says, stepping back.

I tug Jenna away, her hand still in mine, pulling her through the crowd. Jenna stumbles behind me for a few steps before she finds her footing, her grip tightening on my hand.

She doesn’t ask where we’re going. Maybe she doesn’t care. Maybe she just wants to get away as much as I do.

We walk in silence for a while, the noise of the festival fading behind us, replaced by the rhythmic thud of our footsteps on the pavement.

The air is cooler here, away from the heat of the crowd, and I can feel my heart starting to slow down, the nerves easing up bit by bit. But it’s still there, simmering just below the surface.

Jenna pulls her hand free from mine, and I stop, turning to face her. She looks up at me, her eyes searching, like she’s trying to find something in them, something that might make sense of everything.

“Well,” she says, “that wasn’t awkward at all.”

“I’m sorry about that. Something seems to come over her whenever you’re around.”

She shrugs, a sad smile on her face. “It’s not your fault. I’ve gotten used to it.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I feel the urge to apologize again, to somehow make up for all the hurt my mother has caused her over the years.

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