I wait on the couch, blanket up to my shoulders, eyes glued to the TV. Band-Aid number one still stings. I'm not so sure I'm ready for Band-Aid number two.

I flip through the channels unmoved. Eventually, I settle on a Friends rerun. My phone buzzes with a text but I can't bring myself to look at it. What if it's Drew, telling me he doesn't love me, and that he'll never love me? I can only take that much rejection in one twenty-four hour period.

The next rerun is Seinfeld. Then How I Met Your Mother. The laugh tracks are more grating with every minute. Fuck it. I find something dark and depressing on a cable channel—an independent film about miserable people who hate each other.

That's better.

Twenty minutes later, keys jangle in the door. My mom steps inside with a smile. She looks good. Her hair is fixed. Her makeup is neat. Her clothes fit perfectly.

She's taking care of herself.

She's okay.

It's possible she can handle this news.

"Sweetie." Mom steps into the main room. "When did you get in?"

"A few hours ago."

"Did you eat dinner?"

"I had a snack. I'm not that hungry."

She checks the time on her watch. "Too late for a cup of tea?"

"That sounds great."

She retreats to the kitchen and fiddles with the kettle. My tech-savvy, business-running mother still hasn't adopted an electric kettle.

I study my mom's posture. She's standing up straight. Not hunched or curled into herself the way she sometimes is. There are no hints of pain or sadness on her face.

I sit at the coffee table and play with my hands. My phone buzzes. A text from Drew, no doubt, but I'm not ready to hear whatever it is he's saying. Not until I deal with this.

I shove my phone into my purse and drop it on the ground.

Mom brings out a pot of tea, two cups, and a little plate of cookies. Double chocolate chip. My favorite.

Only the smell of chocolate brings me right back to that day in the kitchen with Drew. To his hands, his lips, his—

Not the time. I shake off my lust and pour myself a cup of tea.

Mom smiles. "I'm so glad you're here. I missed you over New Year's."

"Me too."

She fixes her cup and takes a sip. A satisfied look spreads across her face. She's enjoying something.

Another good sign.

"How is work?" I take a sip.

"Busy. Always busy."

"And you're good?"

"Yeah, sweetie. I am."

"Really? Really good and not like you were after Dad died?"

She frowns. Her posture stays the same. Shoulders back, head straight. Confident. "Your father was everything to me. There's always going to be something missing."

"I miss him too."

Mom pats my hand. "I don't know how I got so lucky to raise such a sweet daughter, but it wasn't okay what happened after your father died. You did more than your share."

That stiff feeling in my neck softens. "Thank you."

Mom takes a deep breath. "I'll never be the same person I was before Dad died, but I'll be okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, sweetie. I'm sure.

Deep breath. Here goes nothing. "I don't want to work at your company."

Mom is looking at me with confusion. She presses her hands into her cup and takes a sip. Her eyes go to her drink.

I exhale slowly. Band-Aid, off. The sting lessens. The tension in my back and shoulders lessens. The tightness in my chest lessens.

It's okay.

It's going to be okay.

"It's not because of you," I say. "It's just that I hate finance. I hate business. I hate that internship, and I know I shouldn't because it's such a great opportunity. But I hate it so much." I play with my jeans. "I got into UCLA's teaching program. To start in the fall."

"Sweetie, that's great."

"It is?"

"Of course." She presses her hands together. "What you love comes first."

"Really?"

"Really."

I relax into the couch. "I've been so worried you'd hate me for going against your plan."

"I wish you'd told me sooner. I would have taken the week off."

"It's okay. I have a lot of thinking to do."

"Something you want to talk about?"

This conversation is going okay. No reason why I can't continue that.

"It's this guy," I say. "Drew."

"That boy from down the street? His family must have moved in about ten years ago."

"Yeah. I'm in love with him."

"Let's talk about it."

We spend the whole night poring over all the messy details. In the end, I don't have the answers, but I feel better.

Like it's not so bad trusting someone.

Even someone who hurt me once upon a time.

* * *

Before I go to bed, I check my phone. I have new messages from Tom, Meg, and even Pete and old messages from my mom updating me on her ETA.

Nothing from Drew.

I send an "I'm fine" text to the potentially concerned parties.

I'm not ready to talk to Drew, but I'm sure he's going out of his mind worrying about me telling my mom.

I can't bring myself to make him suffer. Even if he fucking deserves it.

I send him a short message.

Kara: I told my mom. Don't call or reply or anything. I'm still not ready for a no.