“No, this was kind of you.” She takes my hand. “But, filha, I didn’t give up anything I wasn’t willing to give up. I had you, and I did what I needed to do because I love you with all my heart. I don’t regret a single day.” Her voice is fierce, as if it’s important that I understand the strength of her conviction on this point. “And listen, I’m not going to tell you what to do with your life, but please let me worry about mine.”

“But I’m your daughter,” I say, mirroring her exasperation from moments ago.

“See that?” she says, squeezing my chin. “That’s how I feel about you!”

Ugh. She’s too damn smart for her own good.

“Let me ask you something,” she says. “Did you tell Dean about this offer?”

“No. Why would I?”

“Ah, the better question is, why wouldn’t you?”

Shit. My mother’s blowing my mind today. I’ve had plenty of opportunities to tell Dean about the offer, but I chose not to. Because what if the possibility of exploring a relationship with Dean factors into my decision-making, and that, too, turns out to be a bad choice on my part? I mean, there’s no what if about it. That would be a bad decision on my part.

When I don’t respond to her rhetorical question, she adds, “You know, I think the more something’s important to us, the more we feel we’ll lose if it doesn’t work out. So we convince ourselves not to want the thing. That goes for your job, and maybe Dean too.” She points at her feet. “These sneakers? They’re old. Feio. It was easy to choose them this morning because I didn’t care if they got messed up. But if I only had nice shoes? The decision about which ones to wear would have been much harder.”

“I’m not following,” I say, shaking my head. “Dean’s a nice pair of shoes?”

“Something like that,” she says with a grin.

I pick up the spade again and plunge it through the dirt in frustration. Even now, I’m wondering what Dean’s doing. Is he at work on a Sunday? Probably. Or is he cooking in his meticulously well-kept kitchen? Reading a brief? Dammit, this is a problem. So yeah, Dean’s something, all right. I just don’t know what—and my gut tells me it’s best if I keep it that way.

Chapter Nineteen

Dean