Page 119 of Point of Contention

As I made my way to the stairs, movement caught my eye in the kitchen and I turned. My mom and Greer sat across from each other at the dining table, so I turned and headed into the kitchen. “Morning.”

They lifted their heads.

“Honey,” my mom said, relief evident in the way she practically sighed my name. “I was beginning to worry.”

“I have a cell phone.” I pulled a chair out and sat between them. “And I’m almost twenty-five.”

“I know.” She patted my hand. “But I still worry.” She frowned. “Wait, why are you home in the middle of the day? And wearing pajamas. Did you get fired again?”

“Oh my god, no, Mom. I didn’t get firedagain. I never got fired in the first place.” I shook my head, slightly annoyed that she thought that. “I have an interview this afternoon.”

“Oh.Oh, that’s great honey.”

I turned to Greer and she met my gaze.

“We need to talk,” we said in unison.

Our eyes widened and we laughed, shaking our heads.

“Jinx!” My mom laughed with us as she got up to fill a mug with coffee for me.

“You go first.” I motioned to Greer.

“I’m selling the house.”

My eyes widened. I hadn’t expected that. Not so soon, and maybe not even at all. Part of me figured she’d want to stay here, close to her grandfather forever. I’d assumed she was one of those people who could stomach the memory of him dying in that faded blue chair, could live with his ghost.

“I can’t stay here.” Her gaze flicked past the entry of the kitchen. And I realized she was thinking about the study the same way I had been.

“I understand.” I wrapped my hand around hers and squeezed.

She searched my eyes. “Where will you go?”

Smiling, I dropped my gaze to the mug as Mom slid it in front of me, the coffee perfectly beige with just the right amount of creamer. “I’m moving in with Cabot.”

My mom gasped.

Greer yanked her hand out from under mine. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

I smiled sadly. It was the response I’d been expecting. “I know. And I love you for worrying about me.” I flicked my gaze to my mom on that statement. “But this is what I want.”

He is what I want.

“Rylan,” my mom said, “he’s quite a bit older than you.”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure…”

I waited, but she didn’t finish the question. She may have been ready to say a million different things, but my answer to all of them was the same. So I nodded. “I’m sure about Cabot, and that’s all that matters. I’ll figure anything else out along the way.”

Mom sighed deeply, then looked to Greer for help. She hadn’t been around me for the past five years, but even so, it was surreal that she would defer to my best friend. But the truth of it was Greerdidknow me better than my mom did at this point of my life.

“I think you’re making a mistake,” Greer said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I know.”

“What if I don’t sell this place?” Her gaze flicked absently back to the room beyond the kitchen wall, and my heart broke for her.

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