Page 109 of From Maybe to Baby

The psychologist would probably say something about emotional growth and healing processes. The team would talk about game evolution and adapting plays.

Me? I’m just trying not to screw everything up.

17

ALEXA

My mom isover for lunch. It’s cool to be able to see her live and in person, even if I’m thinking of bailing on Paris. The downside is, I don’t cook much, even though I mastered dinosaur pancakes in San Francisco. So she’s getting eggs for lunch.

However, all is not lost because I managed to turn them into an omelet, which I am told is very French.

Thank you, YouTube.

“How are things, honey?” she asks, taking a bite of my omelet without disturbing her lipstick.

"Well, I'm living my dream."

She nods but clearly thinks I’m full of it. "Are you, honey? Your latest writing reads like love letters to what you left behind. Your Instagram is full of family-friendly Paris spots. That’s… a different Alexa thank the one I—and all your followers—have been reading."

"That was for research, Mom."

She sighs and shrugs, ready to give up. "All right. Fine. But I think you're doing what I did— running from love because you'reafraid it might hurt. Running from a life you never thought would be for you. But life takes funny turns, honey. Take it from me.”

“Do you regret it, Mom? Leaving?”

She stares out my window at the gorgeous building across the street. “Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don’t. It’s not black and white. Nothing is, really. But here's the thing about running from love—the running hurts more than risking it."

I put our lunch dishes in the sink and we settle onto my couch, surrounded by half-written articles about Paris romance that somehow all mention kid-friendly activities.

"What if I mess it up?" My voice is tight and the words stick in my throat.

"Oh, honey. You already did. By running. The question is—are you brave enough to fix it?"

I half-laugh, even though nothing is actually funny. “I don’t know, Mom. It's not that simple."

"It is. You're making it complicated because you're scared. That’s understandable. But here's something I learned too late—bescared.Be terrified. Just don’t let that fear win."

I consider her words.

"I gotta tell you, honey, you're braver than I ever was. You see what you're doing. You're facing it. I just ran and called it freedom."

"I ran too."

"Well, let’s put it this way. No irreparable damage has been done. It’s not too late for you."

"I don't know, Mom. I don’t know how to go back," I admit.

"Maybe you don't go back. Maybe you go forward. Just... differently than planned. Look, I love that you’re here in Paris. That I can see you anytime I want. But I want you to be where you belong. And I’m not so sure that Paris is the place."

I glance at my Paris view. At my dream job. At everything I thought I wanted.

"Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I need to mess up in the right direction."

She laughs, a sharp, knowing sound. "About time."

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