Page 53 of Texting My Valentine

“Can I say something?”

Her voice is so vulnerable, bordering on desperate, I can’t tell her no. When I nod, she goes on.

“I know I haven’t been the best mom since your dad passed away. I drank too much and had too many boyfriends. I know I’m not perfect. But I love you, and I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go to a busy poetry slam night on your own…”

I gasp. “How do you know about that?”

“I found a flyer a few months ago. It explains why you sometimes sneak out. At first, I thought you were going on dates. But then I found one of your notebooks, too. I’m right, aren’t I?”

My cheeks burn as I look at the floor. “Maybe.”

“Hey.” She touches my chin and guides my gaze to hers. “This is nothing to be embarrassed about. This is something to beproudof, in fact. Just let me come with you, please. When you’re at work, with all those people and Rowan watching you like a hawk, that’s one thing. But this is something else. Please let me come.Please.”

Her voice trembles. It’s as if she wants to make up for every missed opportunity that passed us by when I was a kid.

“Oh, Mom, come here.”

I wrap my arms around her, pulling her into my embrace. She hugs me tightly, desperately, making me feel like the world’sworst daughter. We’re the only family each other has got. We need to make an effort.

“I’ve never had someone I know watch one of my performances,” I mutter.

“Don’t worry. I’ll hide in the crowd.”

I swallow. “Okay. We should get going.”

“Let me call us a cab. My treat.”

Moving into the living room, I sit on the couch, taking out my phone. My nerves always sizzle before a show, but somehow, this is even worse. It’s not even the idea that Damien might appear—though the threat of that psycho is constantly looming—but the fact that Mom will hear my words.

I’ve been scrawling in my special notebook all day. Despite my tangled emotions regarding Alex, that notebookisspecial. And my body is still aching from what we did last night.

My phone vibrates.

Alex:Evening, gorgeous. I’ve just finished taking Elliot to the archery range. He loved it. He’s started calling himself ‘LEGO-las’ because he loves LEGOs and the Lord of the Rings character so much. Good luck tonight. I wish I could see it.

“Is something wrong?” Mom asks.

“Is it that obvious?”

“You look simultaneously angry and excited. It’s a veryToriexpression.”

I chuckle. Things might be tense between Mom and me, but they’re never completely shattered. “Remember that guy I told you about? He wants to see my performance tonight.”

“This is the guy who saved you, right? But you think he might’ve lied about having a nephew.”

“It sounds nuts when you say it out loud.”

Mom’s expression softens. “No, Tori, it doesn’t. It sounds like the appropriate response to the example I’ve set. On that note, by the way, I ended things with my Tinder fling before they even began. This stuff about the Kents, Damien, and his dad—I think I need a cooling-off period.”

“That’s mature, Mom,” I say, shocked and pleased. “Really mature.”

She smiles. “Thanks. But that doesn’t mean the same needs to apply to you. Why not let him come to the performance?”

“Because he might be a liar, a manipulator.”

“I think you’re using this as a defense mechanism,” Mom says sagely. “I think I’ve shown you such a terrible, twisted example of dating that you refuse to believe that real love exists. So you’ve built this whole story up in your head so you don’t have to deal with how you feel.”

Mom’s speech reminds me that she was studying psychology before Dad passed. She wasn’t always this wild wine-drinking woman leaping from fling to fling.

---