Page 127 of Things We Burn

My mother was looking between us, blinking rapidly against what looked like tears.

“Because my daughter, the career-oriented woman, force of nature, informed me at age seven that she would never fall in love or have children.” She waved her hand violently, causing her bracelets to clash together. “You’ve never broken your word, not even at seven. Until now.” She focused on Kane. “I already know I’m going to love you, Son, but you’re going to have to get your hands off my daughter so I can do the thing she hates… Hug her.”

Kane chuckled easily and kissed me before obeying my mother.

I stayed locked in place, mostly out of shock, but also because something foundational inside me broke, seeing my mother. She visited New York sparingly, and I went to New Hampshire for holidays. Or pretended I was going. Often, a ‘work emergency’ came up. When it didn’t, I was there for the holiday, spent the night and was gone in the morning.

My mother was always affectionate during those short visits; that was her way. I endured it because I didn’t want to be outright hostile. She was my mother, I loved her. I buried that under thick layers of indifference, denial and trauma.

But for whatever reason, the pregnancy hormones, the breakdown yesterday, Kane’s presence, without the armor of the career I’d had for over a decade… I was no longer hiding from my mother. I didn’t stiffen when she rushed over and pulled me into her arms.

I relaxed into her embrace, inhaling the perfume she’d been wearing since before I could remember. Roses and sunshine.

She hugged me tight, and just as I was about to cry again—as if I had any tears left in my body—she let me go to inspect me. Her hands cradled my stomach.

She was crying.

My mother was not shy about tears.

“You’re beautiful,” she declared. “Hello, my first granddaughter,” she addressed my stomach.

My sister had two insane boys. They were my only experience with children, so I’d been relieved to learn I was having a girl for that reason alone.

My mother cupped my face. “You’re glowing, my darling.” Her eyes twinkled.

I let my mother hold me like that, and I held her stare, not averting my eyes away from any kind of connection.

Again, I felt a shift. And I didn’t shy away from her.

She smiled, pinching my cheek.

“I’m making you both breakfast,” she announced, letting me go.

Then she turned and went to the kitchen, leaving me standing there feeling thirteen all over again.

I stared from her to Kane, greeting Blanche as she ran in panting and eager for a head scratch.

“That dog isprecious,” my mother cooed. “Good for the baby’s gut microbiome too, having a pet in the house.”

I didn’t bother to ask how she knew that, instead asking, “How did you know I was here?”

Mom pointed her wooden spoon at Kane. “I called yesterday. He answered, you were asleep. And he volunteered the information that he was the father of my grandchild and that you’d moved from New York to a charming small town in Maine. Obviously, I jumped in the car the second I heard that. And here I am.”

My head snapped up to Kane. “You told my mother about this, us, and didn’t think to tellme?”

“Yep,” he replied as if what he’d done was no big deal. “You consider yourself an island, Chef. But you’ve left it. The island. Both Manhattan and that place you isolated yourself on.” He ran circles over my stomach with his hand. “You need your family now. Whether you realize it or not.”

“I like him,” my mother interrupted before I could yell at Kane some more. Or cry.

“Of course, you do, mother,” I sighed. “He’s immensely likable.”

She grinned. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is when I’m trying to be angry with him.”

Kane squeezed me, lips still curled in that familiar smile.

“Well, you keep trying, and then sit your butt down there.” Mom still had the wooden spoon, using it to point to the breakfast bar. “Kane informed me you have a ritual of getting pastries from the local bakery every morning, and I’m not one to get in the way of a ritual or of supporting a local business, but I’m going to add a little to the breakfast.”

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