Page 65 of Learn Your Limits
Unless it’s Milo.
Throwing the blankets off my body, I quickly climb out of bed and slide on a pair of basketball shorts before rushing to answer the door. Grabbing the handle and pulling the door open, I say,“You just couldn’t wait until—” The words die in my throat when I’m greeted by my mother.
“Good morning,” she says, a soft smile spreading across her face. “I know it’s early, but I was in the area and figured you might be up.”
“Mom. What are you doing here?” I haven’t seen her since Christmas, when she sat quietly on the couch and said nothing as my father informed me of my removal from the family.
“Can I come in?” Her voice is low as she speaks, likely not wanting to wake up anyone else. She’s dressed casually in a pair of fitted jeans and a blouse, an outfit that I’m sure costs more than I make in a week working at the coffee shop despite its casual appearance.
I step aside and hold the door open, waving my arm in front of me to gesture for her to come in. I follow her over to the couch where we both sit in silence for a moment. Her eyes are wandering around the apartment, likely taking in the large television and gaming console setup along with the lack of decor.
“Why are you here, Mom?” I ask, the question coming out more rude than I intended, but I don’t bother to apologize or rephrase it.
“I hate the way you left on Christmas,” she says, turning her body to face mine. “I hate the way your father spoke to you. But what I hate even more is that I didn’t speak up or defend you.”
Shaking my head, my brows furrow. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me. He acted exactly the way I expected him to.”
Her mouth presses into a thin line before she sighs and says, “Maybe so. But you’re my son, and you’ll always be mine to protect. I brought you something.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a check. “This should at least cover your tuition for the rest of the semester. Your father had no right to do what he did, and I hate the idea of you struggling to cover the cost of school. I want you to be able to finish your programand graduate, even if your plans for the future don’t involve the company.”
My hands are trembling as I take the slip of paper from her, my eyes falling to the large amount written on the check. “It’s been hard,” I murmur. “But it’s been a relief to know that I’m working toward a future that will make me happy, not one I’m being forced into.” Swallowing, I add, “I can’t take this if the expectation is going to be that I fall in line. I won’t apologize for the career path I’m choosing or the person I want to spend my life with.”
She nods, reaching up to tuck a strand of auburn hair behind her ear before wiping at the tears brimming in her eyes. “Will you tell me about him?”
“About Milo?”
“Yes. Emiliano, right? He seemed like such a nice man when I met him at the gala. You two looked so happy dancing together.”
I don’t respond right away. Instead, my eyes search hers as if looking for any kind of ulterior motive, but I find none. “He’s incredible,” I finally say, unable to fight the smile that spreads across my face.
“You said… he was your professor?” She shakes her head, laughing. “How did that happen?”
“We met before the start of last semester,” I tell her, choosing to leave out the details of us meeting over a dating app geared toward queer men.
“That must have been quite the shock,” she says.
“It was. But we made it work. We did what we had to do to make sure that his job would be safe. It wasn’t easy to spend months keeping a distance from him. That night at the gala was our first real night out in public without having to worry about being seen together.”
“Oh…” Her voice sounds sad, likely remembering the disaster that that night turned out to be. “And you’re still together?”
“We are,” I say with a smile. “I love him, Mom. He means everything to me. And if somehow accepting this check for tuition means that you expect me to give him up, then I don’t want it. He’s worth the struggle. Even if it means that I have to drop a few classes and delay graduation more than I already have.”
She reaches over and takes my hand in hers. “You may be on a path that is different from the one I dreamed you’d take, but all I want is for you to be happy in life. If this Milo is part of that happiness, then I will support you in any way that I can,” she says, her hand squeezing mine.
“Actually, there may be something you can help me with,” I chuckle, shaking my head. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my mom in the kitchen. Growing up, I remember most meals being made by a hired chef or catered in.
“I’ll try to do whatever it is,” she says.
“Any chance you know how to cook? I sorta invited Milo over for dinner this weekend, and I can’t do much more besides prepare a meal that comes from a box with directions printed on the back.”
She laughs, a full throw-your-head-back kind of laugh that immediately lifts the cloud of tension from the room. “You know, I used to love to cook. Being in the kitchen was such a stress relief for me. But your father, he always complained about everything I made. Nothing was ever good enough for Arthur Callahan. He expected everything to be perfectly balanced and would scoff in disgust any time I’d try to make a good old-fashioned comfort meal.”
“A comfort meal sounds perfect.” Milo has cooked for me so many times, and sometimes, it’s been nothing more than a simple dish thrown together with love. But every time, it’s been perfect. I don’t think he would judge my cooking skills even if Idid prepare something from a box, but I want to give him more than that.
“Then I know just the thing,” she says, patting my knee before standing up and making her way into the kitchen.
Chapter forty-seven
Emiliano
