Page 33 of Stuffed

“I’m at Mom and Dad’s. I don’t have time for your stupid fantasies. I gotta go.”

I hang up before he can say more, but his words follow me as I pour myself a drink at the bar and head into the kitchen. The bourbon burns going down, but it doesn't quiet the thoughts in my head.

My mother's kitchen hasn't changed since I was a boy—still warm with the scent of apple cinnamon candles, still filled with the copper pots she refuses to replace, still the one place I feel completely relaxed.

"You're distracted," my mother notes, sliding a cup of tea across the marble island. "Would it have anything to do with a certain blond young lady?"

I run my finger along the rim of my cup, placing the bourbon to the side. "How do you always know?"

"The same way I knew when you rescued that cat in high school." Her eyes twinkle. "A mother sees past the walls her children build."

“Or could it be a younger brother spilling my personal life to you?” I give her a knowing look that makes her smile.

“He just wants the best for you; we all do. But I don’t need Asher to tell me that you’re clearly hung up on someone.”

"I wasn't very good at hiding things from you."

"No." She sits beside me, her presence as comforting now as it was when I was young. "Just like you're not very good at hiding how you feel about Tessa."

The name hangs between us.

"It's different with her," I admit quietly. "She sees past all my defenses. Makes me want to be… more."

"You've always been more," my mother says softly, pulling out an old photo album. She flips to a familiar image—me with the stray cat I'd hidden in my room. "Remember this? You convinced the entire household to help keep Willow a secret until you knew she'd be welcomed."

"You knew the whole time, didn't you?"

"Of course I did." She smiles. "Just like I knew you'd find someone who sees you the way I do—someone who understands that beneath all that carefully crafted control is a heart that cares deeply."

I think of Tessa's face when I mentioned the shelter plans. How she saw possibility where others saw risk. How she makes me want to embrace the parts of myself I usually keep hidden.

"She makes me better," I say. "Braver."

"Love does that." My mother touches my cheek—the same gesture from childhood, grounding me. "It shows us who we really are. Who we can be."

"I’m not sure I’m ready to admit that I love her," I confess, the words feeling both terrifying and freeing. “Or maybe it’s that I don’t know if I do.”

"I know." Her eyes are bright with happy tears. "I always saw the way you looked at her. The same way you used to look at possibilities—like they're both thrilling and terrifying at the same time."

We sit in comfortable silence, drinking tea as we enjoy the silence. Finally, my mother speaks again.

"You know what makes me happiest?" She squeezes my hand. "Seeing you finally let someone in. Really in."

I think of Tessa's laugh, her determination, her ability to see good in everything—even me. I don’t have to correct my mom that I’m doing everything I can to keep Tessa out, to not let her in. She already knows that. This is her way of telling me that eventually I’ll pull my head out of my ass and see it her way.

"She makes it easy," I whisper, "being myself with her… It just feels right."

My phone buzzes with a text from Tessa, making me smile automatically. My mother watches me with knowing eyes.

"That's how love should be," she says softly. "Natural. Easy. Like finding a piece of yourself you didn't know was missing."

When I leave later that evening, my mother hugs me tight. "Bring her for Sunday dinner sometime," she says. "Your father's been asking when he'll get to know her better."

I smile, thinking of how naturally Tessa would fit into our family. "Someday.” I offer my mom, giving her a gentle kiss on the cheek before walking out to my car.

My mom’s words linger, marinating in my head, a memory of being an angsty teenager flashing through my mind as I drive home.

“Not me.” I scrunch my face at my mom’s sentiment regarding marriage. “I’m never getting married.”

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