Page 96 of All In Good Time

She missed the knock on her door—the music was too loud in her ears—but the movement of it swinging open caught her eye, and she paused her writing to look up. She pulled the headphones down, and the sound disappeared to leave the quiet of her bedroom, with her mother obviously waiting for an answer to a question Becca hadn’t heard.

“What?”

“I was asking if you want a piece of pie. We still have some left over.”

Becca sat up and stretched her arms over her head, exhaling. “Sure. Pecan, please.”

“Okay.” Her mom smiled and shut the door, once again leaving her alone.

Her knuckles cracked as she bent them, and she massaged her hands to ease the ache of endless writing. She still wasn’t entirely used to her mom being home so often. She still worked long shifts, and sometimes Becca wouldn’t see her for a few days because of their opposing schedules, but it was more than she had in a long, long time.

It was nice though. She didn’t feel so lonely. Which was really great during this time when she was still so confused about what she had and hadn’t lost in the past couple months or so.

Especially after the other night.

Every time she was ready to accept that her friendship with Derek was forever compromised, something came up to corrupt the progress and send her into a disorienting whirlpool.

One minute, she was about ready to officially give him space, and then he kisses her, leading to the unexpected discovery that she was in love.

After that, she’d only tried to make sense of it all. Things felt…better. At least, she thought they did. He’d talked to her, sober, and for a little bit, she wondered if it would be possible for things to go back to the way they were.

Becca groaned and fell back onto her bed, studying the popcorn ceiling to search for some sort of answer in its patterns. This was exactly why those applications had been so important. A few minutes away from them and she was stuck in a never-ending spiral.

She just wanted an answer. She just wanted to understand. She just wanted closure.

In this state, she wasn’t sure she’d ever get it.

The door opened again, and Becca didn’t bother to look up—her attention was too focused on the ceiling’s abstract shapes.

“Just leave it on my dresser,” she said. As much as she loved pie, she didn’t particularly feel like eating right now.

Her mom didn’t answer, and Becca waited for the clatter of the plate being set down. The door closed instead, and Becca could feel the air in the room shift around her mom’s lingering presence. Becca closed her eyes in light irritation.

It was great that her mom took more interest in how Becca was feeling, now that she lived at home more often, and Becca was more than happy to share. But sometimes, like right now, she just needed to think to herself rather than discuss it with another person.

“I have to focus on these applications tonight, so I don’t have a lot of time to talk.”

“It won’t take long.”

Becca shot up, and her heart fluttered from her chest into the back of her throat. That voice was certainly not her mother’s, and she certainly couldn’t ignore it.

Derek stood still with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

Her stomach filled with feathers, and a sweet, addictive bitterness settled on her tongue. It took her a second to collect her thoughts and form a response.

“I thought you were my mom,” she said, and cringed at how stupid she sounded. Her hands rose, flattening her messy hair. She’d never cared about how she looked around Derek.

He stayed near the door, waiting for an invitation. They’d never cared about any of that before.

Becca hid the deep steadying breath she took while adjusting her position on the bed. She crossed her legs and sat so her back was straight. The last thing she wanted was for him to see how much his presence affected her—how lightheaded she got just from looking at him and how her fingers trembled slightly at the thought of touching him.

She wanted to touch him.

“This would be much easier if you just came in.” She said.

Her stomach churned as he followed her directions, a mixture of elated delight and sinking dread forming as he took his spot on the edge of her bed. It’d been a long time since he was willingly in her home. She loved him here—she hated what it might mean.

Breathing was hard. It was even harder to hold it in, scared that a single exhale might disrupt the tension that settled between them and scare him away.

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