Page 12 of Just Like in the Movies
I dug around inside the bouquet until I found the little envelope. Inside, the card—written by Mike—read, "I'm sorry. Can I try this again if I promise to not fuck up this time?" Followed by a phone number with a California area code.
Try what, though? Us? Or just to have a civil conversation. I stared at the card, then up at the flowers, a spray of pale yellow sunflowers with some sort of greenery around them.
So he remembered.
Not that remembering my favorite flowers should have been that hard.
"What are you going to do?" Mom asked me.
"I don't know." I reached out to gently run my fingers over the petals of the flower closest to me.
"I don't want to see you hurt again like last time."
"I'm not going to set anything on fire, I promise. Even if it was really satisfying at the time." I grinned at her around the vase then sobered. "I don't know. I just really don't know what to do here." Now, more than ever, I wished I had Maddie to talk to. She'd have had good advice. It was ironic that it was her funeral that had left me with this question that I really needed her help to answer.
"Take some time to think about it," Mom suggested. "You don't owe him an immediate answer and he owes you some time to decide if you want to take a risk on him again."
"You're being awfully supportive about this."
She shook her head. "I'm not at all. If it were down to me, I'd be over on his parents' doorstep telling them to keep their boy away from mine. But you're an adult," she said, her voice softening. "Except for that incident with the fire department, you've always been sensible. I can't make this decision for you, all I can do is hope that the one you make will be the one that won't hurt you."
"Thank you." Not just for the support. I knew a lot of omegas whose parents would have just made this decision for them. "I promise I'll keep you in the loop."
"And make sure you have your phone on you. In case you need to report a fire."
I rolled my eyes and reached for my ice cream. "You're really not going to let me live that down, are you?"
"Probably not," she admitted. “If you’re going to do the crime, you need to be prepared to do the time. Especially if you’re contemplating a relationship with the guy who made you do the crime in the first place.”
I shoved a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth and settled back in the chair to stare at the flowers. "They are pretty."
She nodded. "He always did have good taste."
He did. And he'd never hooked up with anyone long-term in L.A., not long-term like we'd been.
Figuring out what that meant was a little too much for me today, with yesterday's letter still hanging over me and today's flowers staring me in the face. "I'll be seeing him tomorrow at the lawyer’s office," I said finally. "He can wait."
Mom nodded in approval and offered me a spoonful of her caramel mocha. "Good. I'm proud of you."
I accepted the peace offering.
