Page 32 of Knot By Design
She hums low in her throat, the sound that usually means she doesn’t believe me. “You don’t have to lie, Dorian. I know I shouldn’t have kicked the girl out. But you know how people talk in this town.”
I take the seat across from her, trying to keep my tone steady. “Mom?—”
She holds up a hand. “Don’t ‘Mom’ me. I’ve lived here long enough to know how fast gossip spreads. Half the town probably knows I’ve got multiple sclerosis before my eggs even finish cooking. I can’t have people pitying me.”
“It’s not pity,” I say quietly.
She stirs her coffee, gaze fixed on the swirling milk. “It’s close enough.”
“She wasn’t here to pity you,” I say. “Norah’s just... she’s kind. Sometimes too kind.”
Mom’s eyes soften. “And you still care about her.”
I don’t answer right away. The truth sits heavy on my tongue. “We’ve got history,” I say finally. “That’s all.”
“History doesn’t fade just because time passes.” She gives a small, knowing smile, one that used to drive me crazy when I was a teenager. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m your mother. I notice things.”
“I’m not mad,” I say again. “You were concerned. I get it.”
She nods, though her gaze drifts toward the snow outside. “Sometimes I forget how much this town knows about me. About us. It’s hard to keep anything private when everyone’s known you for forty years.”
“Fox Hollow’s never been good at minding its business,” I say, and that earns a faint laugh.
We just sit there. The old clock ticks, the smell of butter and cinnamon fills the air.
I remember mornings like this when I was a kid. She used to hum along to the radio, hair up in a messy bun, the sharpest wit in Fox Hollow. Now her hands shake when she lifts the cup.
“I just…” She exhales, shoulders sagging. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Or her. Norah’s a good girl. I panicked. People in this town love to talk, and I didn’t want them talking about me like I’m some charity case.”
“I know,” I say, voice low. “But you didn’t embarrass me.”
Her eyes flick up, sharp and tired all at once. “You sure? Because I embarrassed myself.”
I reach across the table, brushing crumbs off her sleeve. “You’re fine. You don’t owe anyone an explanation.”
She gives me a small, crooked smile. “You always say that like you believe it.”
“I do.”
“Hmm.” She takes another sip, then sets her mug down. “You gave up your life in Portland for this, Dorian. Don’t think I don’t know.”
“It wasn’t giving up. It was moving back. There’s a difference.”
“Still.” Her gaze softens. “I don’t want you to resent me for it. You had your firm, your friends, your life. You uprooted everything just to make sure I wasn’t alone.”
I look at her, at the fine lines carved deep around her mouth, at the woman who raised me mostly on her own. “Never,” I say. “I would never resent you. You’re my family. That’s all that matters.”
She nods, blinking fast. “You talked to your father lately?”
The question lands heavier than it should. “No.”
“You should,” she says gently. “He’s still your father.”
“Technically.”
She sighs. “You sound just like me twenty years ago.”
I can’t help a small laugh. “That’s where I get it from.”
