Page 85 of L.O.V.E

I finished my dessert, then made my way to the kitchen, kissed Mom on the cheek, and snatched the dirty platter from her fingers. “I’ll finish up here. Go join the others.”

“You wash, I’ll dry.” She moved away, shaking her head, and pulled a towel out of the drawer. “I can’t listen to another one of your uncle’s dirty holiday jokes. Who’re you hiding from?”

Everyone. “If I have to hear about Auntie Dot’s diverticulitis again, I might shoot myself.”

Mom bent over in laughter. “I know. I know. Bless her heart.”

God, that smile. Precious. After Cadence passed, Dad and I feared we’d never see her face light up again. We survived that death. I could survive another.

Sharing small talk, we finished the dishes. When the last of the holiday china was put away, she pulled me into a tight embrace. “You did good tonight.”

I hated every second. “I wash a mean pan.”

“Sweetie.” Mom pushed away but held my arms in a firm grip. “This is your first holiday after the accident. I know it has to be hard.”

Defenses up, I snapped, “You didn’t even like Victoria, Mom.”

Her eyes glistened, but she mirrored my glare. “I loved her because you loved her.”

“But you didn’t like her.”

“Honey.” Mom backed away and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “We don’t have to talk about this now.”

“I need to talk about it.” I needed Mom’s grace.

She nodded. Sniffed. Straightened her spine. “Your dad and I never thought she was the right fit. There isn’t much more to it than that.”

“Bullshit.”

“Okay, fine.” With a huff, she turned to ready the Keurig. “You doted over her. Gave her everything she wanted. You were always trying to please her, and that’s a wonderful quality, sweetheart. It is, but…” Silence. A deep inhale.

“But what?” I stood at her side, snagged two holiday mugs off the high shelf.

“Do you remember what you told me when you first met Victoria?”

“No.”

“You told me you’d tried to turn down her advances, let her down gently, but then she’d told you about her abuse. Do you remember?”

Fuck. I remembered. First her uncle, then her last two boyfriends before me.

Mom continued. “After that, you never left her side.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Your girlfriend before Vic, what was her name?” Mom lifted a finger to her mouth, stared out the window, and then said, “Jocelyn.”

Jocelyn Garcia. We’d lasted nine months before she’d dumped me with no explanation. “I don’t understand where you’re going with this, Mom.”

She rolled her gorgeous eyes, grabbed a mug out of my hand, smirked. “She’d lost her mother a week before you met her, right?”

“Yes.” I headed to the fridge to grab creamer.

“And the girlfriend before her?”

“Had a broken leg when we met,” I answered, my nerves shot. “Are you saying I’m attracted to damaged women?” I shut the door too hard, bottles and jars clinking.

“Oh, God, no.” She waved her hand in the air, then rested it over her heart. “You wanted to save them.” She dropped her gaze to the tile floor, swallowed, met my eyes again. “You couldn’t save your sister, honey. You tried to make up for that loss by helping those women.”

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