Page 2 of Texting My Valentine

“It could be fun,” Lily mutters.

“So now you’re ganging up on me?” I grumble.

Lily giggles, leaving my vanity unit, and pinches my cheeks. She shapes my mouth into a smile. “It should be illegal to be so grumpy on Valentine’s night.”

Mom’s crying grows louder.

“Tori…” Cleo presses.

“I know, I know.”

I stand up, mentally noting that my reluctant tone won’t win me anyDaughter of the Yearawards. Walking through our apartment, I try to turn myself into the sympathetic person Mom needs.

It’s difficult. I won’t lie.

Before Dad passed away, he and Mom were involved in a messy divorce. If I ever had any misconceptions about what love was or could be, they fixed that fast.

Mom is sitting on the edge of her bed, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shuddering as she sobs.

“I’m fine,” she whimpers.

She sounds like a child, as she often has throughout the years. The notion frequently occurs to me that I’m the one who has to parent her. Talk about a breeding ground for resentment. But I try to keep that at bay.

Whatever else is true about us, we’re family.

I sit beside her and place my hand on her arm. “What happened?”

“It turns out my Prince Charming isn’t so charming after all,” she says bitterly. “The whole apartment bit was a lie…” She glances at her packed suitcase in the corner of the room, her eyes red and rimmed with tension. “It turns out he’s married.”

“Oh,” I mutter. I’m not sure what else to say.

She tilts her head at me. “Did you know?”

“No,” I answer truthfully.

“But you’re not surprised.”

“I just…”

I don’t know how to tell her that she always chooses the worst men without causing an argument.

“You don’t have to treat me with kid gloves like I’ll shatter if you’re honest.”

She can’t know how absurd that statement is.

“Spit it out, Tori.”

“I want you to be okay, Mom,” I tell her.

“But…”

“There’s not a but.”

She folds her arms, looking very much like a child. It annoys me, but I try not to let it show.

“There is, so why don’t you just spit it out,” she scoffs.

I sigh. “Let’s just say I didn’t pack my suitcase.”

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