Page 11 of Back in the Bay

"Mabel?" Mom's voice is softer now, tentative. "Can I come in?"

I glance at Aidan, who's now examining my old collection of Nancy Drew books with entirely too much interest. "Sure."

She steps inside, carrying a steaming mug that smells like chamomile and honey—the same tea she used to make when I had nightmares as a kid.

"I'm sorry," she says, settling on the edge of my bed. "I shouldn't have ambushed you with all that talk about Cole. Your father always says I have the subtlety of a freight train."

Despite everything, I feel my mouth twitch. "Dad's not wrong."

"I just..." She sighs, wrapping her hands around the mug. "I worry about you, sweetheart. You work so hard, and you never mention dating anyone, and I thought maybe?—"

"Maybe what? That I'd come crawling back to my high school boyfriend because my life in Portland is somehow incomplete without a man?" The words come out sharper than I intended, and I see her flinch.

"No, that's not what I meant at all." Her voice is quiet but firm. "I meant that you haven't seemed truly happy in years, and the last time I saw you light up like the sun was when you were with him."

The mug trembles slightly in her hands, and suddenly, I see her as she is—not the meddling mother trying to orchestrate my love life, but a woman who misses her daughter and wants her to find joy.

"Mom." I sit down beside her, and she immediately passes me the tea. "I am happy. I have a career I love, a beautiful apartment, independence?—"

"But are you fulfilled?" she asks softly. "There's a difference, you know."

I take a sip of the chamomile, letting the familiar taste ground me. Through my childhood window, I can see the harbor in the distance, dotted with fishing boats heading out for the evening catch. Somewhere out there is probably Cole's boat—he always talked about getting one, about lazy Sunday mornings on the water.

"It's complicated, Mom."

"The best things usually are."

mabel

. . .

The unmistakable aromaof hairspray and gossip hits me the moment we walk through the door of Shear Perfection, and I already know this was a mistake.

"Mabel honey!" squeals Mrs. Henderson from beneath a towering beehive of foil, her voice carrying across the entire salon. "Look at you, all grown up and gorgeous!"

Mom beams beside me, practically vibrating with pride as she steers me toward the reception desk. "We're here for our four o'clock appointments," she announces to anyone within earshot, which in this echo chamber is everyone.

Within seconds, we're surrounded. Mrs. Patterson abandons her pedicure, hobbling over with cotton balls still wedged between her toes. Betty Carmichael emerges from under a hair dryer, looking like she's been electrocuted, and somehow, even Mrs. Foster materializes from the back room, her face mask cracking as she smiles.

"So tell us everything," Mrs. Henderson demands, patting the empty chair beside her. "Are you seeing anyone special? Your mother mentioned you might have your eye on someone."

I shoot Mom a look that could melt steel, but she's already being whisked away to the shampoo station, conveniently deaf to my silent pleas for rescue.

"I'm focusing on my career right now?—"

"Oh, nonsense," Betty interrupts, waving a manicured hand. "A pretty girl like you needs a good man. What about that Jonas Dillon? He’s still single and quite the catch, honey."

My stomach drops. "Jonas?"

"Mmm-hmm," Mrs. Patterson nods sagely. "Handsome as sin, that one. I just moved back to town, you know. Opened up that fancy law practice downtown."

The room suddenly feels smaller, the chemical smell more suffocating.

"Law practice?" I manage to squeak out while trying not to choke on the cloud of hairspray being liberally applied two chairs over.

"Partner track at Gillespie and Associates," Mrs. Henderson confirms with a knowing nod. "And still unmarried at thirty-four. Criminal, if you ask me."

I'm saved from responding when Trina, my stylist since high school, beckons me toward her chair. But Betty Carmichael follows, dragging her rolling chair behind her like some determined beauty salon stalker.

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