Page 33 of Liberating Love

I offer her as much of a smile as I can muster. “Thanks. Here’s your lunch.”

She glances down at the tray and picks up the fork with a nod, so I head back to the kitchen. Right before I turn the corner, I hear, “Noah dear, would you bring me my coffee on your way back?”

I close my eyes and respond with a strained voice, “Sure thing.” Sometimes it’s easier not to correct her when she thinks I’m my dad, but I always feel sort of terrible about doing it.

She’s been like this all week, although today has been the worst of it. She’s been doing so well lately that I’d almost forgotten what it was like when she has a bad week.

After collecting my own plate, I head out to the living room, only to find my mom staring off into space again. As I sit down, I say, “You’ve got to eat your food, Mom.”

She turns and smiles. “What time will Aiden be home from school?”

I stifle a defeated sigh. “I am Aiden, Mom.”

“Oh, that’s right. What are you doing here?”

“Eating lunch with you.” I point at her plate with my fork. “How about you take a couple of bites and we can play checkers together when you finish.”

Her smile is huge, and I think a part of my heart breaks off from it. “That sounds wonderful, sweetie.”

I smile back even though my heart is full of worry, and I dig into my food, trying not to show my stress to her. The last thing I need is having her concerned over me.

* * *

Once my momis taking her afternoon nap, I go into my bedroom and pace for a few minutes before flopping down on my bed and pulling out my phone to send the text I’ve been dreading to write all day.

Me: I’m really sorry to do this, but I can’t come over tonight.

I drop the phone on my chest and stare up at the ceiling, then jump when it vibrates.

Delaney: Is everything okay?

I sigh and think about lying to him and making up some stupid excuse, but I find myself unwilling to lie. There’s been so much lying—or at least omitting the truth—going around that I can’t do it. He deserves honesty from me.

Me: Not really. My mom’s been having a bad week and today’s been rough. I can’t leave her alone tonight. I’m really sorry to cancel.

Delaney: Is there anything I can do?

The question makes my eyes a little watery. He’s always so kind to me, and I really don’t know what to do with it. I’ve been dealing with this on my own for so long, that I don’t even know how anyone else can help me. There really isn’t anything anyone can do.

Me: No, but thanks.

Delaney: Let me know if you think of anything.

Trying to swallow down my emotions, I run my hands through my hair, then decide to hop in the shower to wash all the feelings away.

It’s no surprise that it doesn’t work.

* * *

After my shower,I putter around the apartment, cleaning up. My mom wakes up, more agitated now than before her nap. It’s disheartening, but I push it aside and try to figure out what to make for dinner, debating simply ordering a pizza, even though my mom won’t appreciate it, when there’s a knock at my door.

When I open it and see Delaney standing there with several bags in his hands, the anger I expect doesn’t come. I feel relieved, and… happy. Instead of inviting him in like a normal person would do, I walk straight into his chest, burrowing my face in his shirt as I wrap my arms around his waist.

Delaney awkwardly holds onto me with his armfuls of bags, and after a minute, he starts walking me backward into the apartment. I hear him shut the front door and lock it before he’s moving me back far enough to set his bags on the dining table, and the whole time, I don’t let go, I don’t even move my face out of his shirt.

Once his arms are free, he pulls me even tighter to him, giving me the best damn bear hug I’ve ever had. He rubs my back and kisses the top of my head, and I never want to move. All of the stress and dismay I’ve been feeling all week almost evaporates the longer he holds me. It’s like his hugs are magical, like nothing bad can happen while my face is stuffed in his chest.

Delaney clears his throat, then says, “Hello, Mrs. McGuire.”

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