Page 108 of The Ruthless and the Strong

The bell chimed, announcing my arrival, and she looked up. She’d already brought me a cup of coffee, so I didn’t bother going to the counter. I took a seat across from her and moved to grab the cup.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hey,” she said, her hands around her own cup while she took me in. I fought against the urge to squirm under those sharp brown eyes of hers.

Ladies shouldn’t fidget.That was what she had told me growing up.

Except I wasn’t like her. I was flighty and fidgety.

I took a sip of my coffee at the same time she said, “I owe you an apology.”

I choked on the hot coffee instead.

“Oh, no,” she said, grabbing some napkins and handing them to me. I grabbed them and covered my mouth, my eyes burning, and I could feel my cheeks warming as we garnered half the attention of everyone in the shop.

“Sorry,” I said.

She shook her head. “No need to apologize.”

I nodded. “You just surprised me, that's all.”

She frowned over her coffee cup. “Is me apologizing really that surprising?”

“No, that wasn’t it. It’s just out of all the things you could say to me, I didn’t think an apology was one of them.”

“Oh.” And I didn’t know if that was a happy oh or a sad oh.

“You were saying?” I prompted, when it looked like she wasn’t going to say anything for a while.

She placed her coffee cup down and grabbed my hand. I looked down at it, noting the difference there. Her hand was smaller than mine, her skin darker. There was a delicateness to it that made me want to protect her. Which was silly. My mom didn’t need my protection.

And I knew now it wasn’t the kids’ job to protect the parents. I would hope Hunter never felt the need to protect me. It was my job to protect him, just like it had been her job to protect me, but she didn’t.

“I owe you an apology, baby,” she repeated.

I pulled my hand away and looked down at my coffee cup. “For what?” I asked, my voice low.

“For everything. But mostly for pressuring you into marrying Sam when you didn’t want to.”

I nodded and blinked at the sudden building of moisture there.

“Thank you for saying it,” I said. “I should go home. I have to wake Hunter up and drive him to school soon.”

Before she could say anything, I moved out the door.

I didn’t mean to rush out of there so soon, but the alternative was staying behind and listened to all she had to say to risk losing control in public.

I squinted against the harsh sunlight when I got out, before I headed to my car. I was about two feet away when I heard her call my name. She was nearby and I closed my eyes in frustration. I had thought I had escaped. No such luck.

“Yeah?” I asked, not turning around. She moved in front of me, her head tilted back to take me in.

“I know you’re mad at me. But please, let me explain.”

I didn’t say anything. I stood there, looking down at her.

“I made a mistake, and I hurt you,” she said. “What you said the other night had been playing on my mind. It never once occurred to me that I had forced you into this marriage, but only because I had been blinded by my desire to save face.”

It didn’t make sense to me. Like me, she had been born in the United States. My grandparents immigrated to Chicago long before they had her. Yet, while I struggled with my identity my whole life, always gravitating more to my American upbringings, as opposed to my Asian heritage or Irish one, she had always been more in line with her Japanese background than her American one. Having a kid out of wedlock would have been huge deal on her side of the family.

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