It made me sad for her.
She moved into the kitchen, toward the stovetop and kettle. “How’s Rhys?”
“Mom.” I laughed into a smile, nearly rolling my eyes. “We both know he texts you updates about my well-being.”
“I ask about his well-being too, Archibald. I’m a mother, not a stalker.” Her nose wrinkled as she reached for two teacups. “I love that boy, but I can’t always keep up with him. He talked my ear off last week about synergy.”
I barked a laugh, leaning against the counter. She was calmer during our visits. My presence was stabilizing, and I learned at too early an age that being reliable was a form of love.
Mom loved me.Of course she did.
She just felt the world a lot more than most people.
“I’m glad you’re home.”
“Me too,” I whispered, and it was true.
It just didn’t mean that I would stay.
I climbed onto the stool at the counter. My knees bumped the cabinet when I sat, and I placed my hands flat against the laminate,waiting.
The kettle clicked off.
Mom poured the water slowly, careful not to splash. Steam curled up between us, fogging my glasses for a second before I nudged them up with my knuckle.
She slid a mug toward me, the same chipped one I always used, green glaze worn thin at the rim. The tea bag string dangled over the side, and she waited until I wrapped my hands around it before turning back to her own.
The window over the counter was open just a crack, letting in the sound of kids yelling somewhere down the block and the faint whir of a lawn mower.
Mom relaxed against the counter across from me, adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves before wrapping both hands around her mug. Her wedding ring caught the light when she lifted the cup. She’d never taken it off.
Not after Dad died.
Not after Abel disappeared.
It was as constant as the rest of the house.
I blew across the surface of the tea, then took a careful sip. It was a breath away from being too hot, but I liked the way the heat slid down my throat and settled in my chest.
“So,” she said, clearing her throat. “Rhys told me about your new job.”
Hell.
I shifted on the stool, one foot hooking around the rung to steady myself. “It’s just an assistantship, Mom, and I told you I was hired.”
“Mhm.” She tilted her head, watching me over the rim of her mug. “But you didn’t tell me your professor was handsome.”
The tea went down wrong.
I coughed hard, jerking forward as my hand flew to my mouth. Heat burned up my throat, eyes watering as I fought to get my breathing back under control. The mug rattled when I set it down, sloshing dangerously close to the edge.
Mom reached for a napkin and slid it across the counter without comment, lips pressed together like she was holding something back.
I wiped my mouth, mortified. “Mom.”
She raised an eyebrow in a way that made me feel about fourteen years old. “What?”
“That’s—” I coughed again. “That’s not relevant.”