I took in a deep breath, and let it out through my mouth, steadying myself. “But you’re always so worried about me.”

“I worry about if you’re happy. I worry that you’re being too hard on yourself. I worry that you’re not getting enough sleep.”

I let out a small laugh at this.

“But I never worry about you, Franny, not really. If anything, I worry about anyone who tries to stand in your way. I know I’m just your mom, but you’ve always seemed unstoppable to me. The day you stop doing exactly what you want with your life, that’s when I’ll worry. Because that would be a failure. Not yours, but mine, as your mom.”

“It’s hard for me to shake this feeling that I just want to make you proud,” I said. “And if I don’t, I’ve messed up.” I’d never been this honest with her before, and it felt amazing and terrifying, all at once. I yanked down the sleeves of my sweatshirt, and wiped my eyes with them.

“Franny, the only person who you need to make proud is yourself. Don’t worry about me. I’ll always be proud of you, no matter what.”

Her words kicked the tears back into high gear. It was impossible to feel proud of myself when I’d hurt Hayes and screwed everything up between us.

“I lied about having a migraine, that morning. With the baby shower. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, honey, it’s okay. I never said thank you for all you did to help me with that.” She wove her fingers through mine, placed her other hand on top of my own.

“And I lied because of a guy,” I said, finally getting the words out, my voice hoarse from crying. “The one from the subway.”

“Hayes Montgomery the Third?” she asked, and I was so taken aback at her using his full name that I laughed.

“You know his full name?” I said, still shocked at having heard it come out of her mouth.

“I set up a Google Alert for him.” She said it like it was obvious. “I have one for you too.”

I shook my head at this. What a mom move.

“I screwed it all up.” I let out a weary sigh, and she ran her hand through my hair, so gently, like she did when I was small. “I panicked about, well, everything—your heart attack, feeling like I was failing at getting work, how much I liked him. I said stuff to him that wasn’t especially nice. I know you said I should be proud of myself, but I’m not proud of how I treated him.”

“Well, what would make you proud, then?” she asked, still softly rubbing my head.

I thought for a moment. “Apologizing,” I said. “I owe him one.”