“Ugh.” Nora stomps her foot. “You don’t understand, do you? She doesn’t have any friends here. She barely leaves the house when it’s not for work. She’s lonely. She’s sad. She’s lost. And . . . look.” She takes a breath. I hold mine. I don’t care that I’m eavesdropping. It is me they are talking about. I need to hear it. What they say about me when they don’t know that I’m listening. The hard truth they keep at bay.

“I pity her, okay?” Nora admits quietly. I close my eyes. Humiliation sinks its pointy teeth so deeply into me that I’m surprised it doesn’t break my skin. “She doesn’t have anyone. She works one solitary job at the shop, and another one dealing with tourists. I’m a big chunk of her world right now.”

“You’re a big chunk of my world,” Colt reminds her, his voice softer now. “What does this mean for me? Are you going to live with her for eternity?”

“No. Don’t be ridiculous.” Nora lets out a nervous laugh. “Things are moving fast between her and Dominic. I bet he’ll ask her to move in with him in the next few months. He’s almost thirty, you know. He wants to settle down.”

“So my wanting to settle down with my girlfriend depends on Dominic’s desire to settle down with his?” Colt asks edgily, his tone slightly mocking. I hate that he has a point. I hate that everything he says makes sense.

“Yup,” Nora says simply. In this moment, I don’t know if I want to hug her or shake her. I’m standing in her way to happiness with her boyfriend, but she is doing what she thinks is the right thing. “Pretty much.”

“Let’s just hope she doesn’t miss out on this opportunity. This Dom guy seems neat.” Colt sighs, knowing that he’s lost the battle this time around.

“They’ll get married. Mark my words,” Nora purrs.

“We’ll go first.”

“Aww. Colty!”

The machine shrieks, announcing the coffee is ready. The sound of wet kisses and sweet nothings fills the kitchen. It’s another day in the world.

Another day my mom won’t get to see.

TWELVE

TWELVE

On the drive to Dover on Christmas Eve morning, Dom tells me that he bought us a cooking-class pass for the next six months, and that he signed me up for a calligraphy course as an early Christmas present.

“You know, because you said you used to do art.” A shy smile touches his lips.

Art is such a big, wide field, and calligraphy is definitely not my thing.

I am grateful for his thoughtfulness, but I also feel a little suffocated. I get that he lives in high gear, but I live at a turtle’s pace. I always feel like I need to catch up.