With a sigh, she pulled down her visor and glanced into the mirror, hoping that a miracle had occurred and she’d see someone who had their shit together. Her hair was knotted on top of her head with the string tie from her hoodie because she’d lost her scrunchie. She was wearing her old glasses because she’d run out of contacts. Her face was pale and her eyes were puffy and red from a bad combo of not sleeping and crying. She wore yoga pants that hadn’t seen a yoga class since . . . well, ever, and in spite of being nearly thirty, she had a big, fat zit on her chin.

In short, she looked about as far away from knowing what she was doing with her life as she was from solving world hunger.

Knowing her moms—sweet and loving and nosy as hell—were going to see right through her, she pawed through her purse for a miracle. She found some lip gloss that she applied, and then on second thought also dabbed on each cheek for some badly needed color. She also found two peanut M&Ms, and since she didn’t believe in wasting food, she ate them. Hoping for more, she shook her purse, but nope, she was out of luck.

The theme of her life.

With a sigh, she once again met her own gaze in the mirror. “Okay, here’s the drill. You’re okay. You’re good. You’re happy to be home. You’re absolutely not crawling back with your tail between your legs to admit to your moms that they were right about Dickhead.”

Swallowing hard, she got out of her hunk-o-junk and grabbed her duffle bag and purse. She’d barely made it to the porch before the front door was flung open and there stood her moms in the doorway, some deep maternal instinct having let them know their sole offspring was within smothering distance.

Both in their mid-fifties, their similarities stopped there. Olive was pragmatic, stoic, and God help the person who tried to get anything by her. She was perfectly coifed as always, hair up, her pants and blazer fitted, giving her a look of someone who’d just walked out of a Wall Street meeting. In sharp comparison, Raina’s sundress was loose and flowery and flowing, and she wore beads around her neck and wrists that made her jingle pleasantly whenever she moved. She was soft and loving, and quite possibly the kindest soul on earth. And while Olive was economical with her movements, Raina was in constant motion.

Opposites attract . . .

But actually, her moms did have something in common beyond their age—their warm, loving smiles, both directed at Brynn. It was her own personal miracle, that they loved her madly no matter how many times she’d driven them crazy.

And there’d been a lot of times. Too many to count.