Page 25 of A Mountain Man Walks into a Library

“Sam’s good,” I say, and then when it’s clear she’s waiting for more information than that, I add, “busy. He does landscaping in the summer.”

She hums approvingly. I know the thought of my big, strong boyfriend being a landscaper only adds to her manly-man vision of him, and that puts her at ease. And Ilikemy big, strong...whatever he is, because he’s not my boyfriend anymore, but I don’t like her thinking of him like that. Whoever I end up with will be in my life because we enjoy being with each other. Not because I need someone to take care of me.

“He’s so good for you, Remy,” she says and my heart crumples again. “He’s calm and compassionate, and he didn’t panic when he passed out. He justcaughtyou.”

I didn’t know that. I remember waking in his arms. That’s all.

And I can’t take it anymore. I can’t talk about Sam like he’s my boyfriend anymore because it hurts too much. And I don’t like lying to my parents. It was never the plan.

“None of it was real, Mom,” I say, scrubbing my palm over my face.

Mom is quiet for a moment, and then asks, “What do you mean?”

I groan. “Sam and I weren’t seeing each other. I wasn’t seeing anyone, but you were soworriedand I thought it might help you relax to think I had someone around.”

And I kind of did, even if I didn’t realize it at the time.

“I didn’t know Sam was coming by when you guys showed up. He’s just...he’s just thoughtful like that, and then you guys made assumptions, and I asked him to play along.” I groan. “It was so stupid, and I am so sorry.”

My mom doesn’t say anything for a long time, and then she says, “Baby,” with so much tenderness in her voice that it is almost too much.

“I didn’t plan to lie to you, or trick you. I kept telling him to go, and then you’d invite him to stay, and I think he knew I could use the support, so he stayed. And then—” I swallow against my nerves, because I need her to know this part too. “And then, I kissed him. And he kissed me back. And, Mom, I think he’s been trying to tell me that he liked me for the last six months. Ever since I met him, and I was just too dumb to notice it.” I smile, even as my eyesight goes blurry with tears. “He brings me cookies every Monday, and a card with some smart quote on it, always something about books or libraries, and then we talk about what we’ve been reading and he tells me to order more French philosophy for our little library, and—and it’s the best thing in my week.”

I didn’t plan to say so much, to ramble to my mom about my feelings for Sam. It just came out, like the words had been building up for months, and they finally needed a release valve. I feel lighter for having said it. Lighter and more miserable.

When my mom finally speaks, she says, “I’m sorry I suggested that Sam wouldn’t be there for you.”

I sigh, because my mom is where I got my most stubborn traits. “Were you not listening to me? We’re not together.”

That catches her and she stumbles over her words for a moment. “Wait. I’m confused. I thought you were lying at the beginning, but then you were together for real.”

I chew on my bottom lip. “It was a bad idea,” I say, trying not to sound like my heart has been obliterated. “I think I pushed him away.”

It’s Mom’s turn to sigh, and she does. Loudly. It’s almost a groan.

“Well,whateveryou are,” she says, “I will tell you something. That man is going to be there for you, Remy, if you let him. But only if you let him. Look, I don’t appreciate being lied to by my own son, but Sam went along with your little charade without missing a step. He spent the weekendwith your parentsbecause you asked him to. He didn’t have to do that. That’s dedication, Remy. That man was devoted to you before you even kissed.”

My face is hot again, and not just from embarrassment. My mom is right. She’s always right, even when she’s being pushy and overbearing. She’s right, and I have been such an asshole.

I scrub the tears off of my cheeks. “Well, I screwed it up, so it doesn’t matter.”

When she speaks, my Mom’s voice is tight and clipped. “Remington James Lacross. Have you tried talking to him like an adult? Or are you just sulking in your library like a child?”

“What would I even say?”

“Remy. Talking or sulking?”

I narrow my eyes at nothing. “Sulking,” I answer.

“Okay,” she says, her voice brightening, “well, stop that. And talk to him, baby. You owe him at least that much.”

---