Page 13 of One Week in Paris
“No, you’re not,” she scolds. “Get out here.”
I know my mother, and I know she’s not going anywhere. I reluctantly unlock the stall door, and slowly make my way out.
Her face falls when she catches sight of me. “Oh… Kayla. What happened?”
She’s completely confused, with reason. She takes me in her arms, and I sob on her shoulder, all over her black dress.
“It’s him,” I manage to say between sobs. “It’s… Matt Moore.”
She pulls swiftly from me. “What? What do you mean?” She doesn’t clue in right away, but I see the realization sweep over her. Her eyes grow wide. “Matt Moore…” she whispers, and her face crumples. “Oh, I had no idea, Kayla. I’m so sorry.”
Yes, my mother knows all about Matt Moore. She was the only one I could confide in at the time — I had no friends. She was the only one who was there for me.
She presses a hand to her mouth, horrified. “Are you sure?”
“Of course,” I scoff. “It’s him, Mom.”
“Oh, if only I’d known, I would have never…”
“I know, Mom. It’s not your fault. It’s just a cruel twist of fate.”
“What do we do now?” she asks. “I can’t possibly marry the man now.”
I shake my head. My mother’s finally found happiness, after all these years. She deserves it, and I’m not about to stand in her way. “It’s fine, Mom. That was years ago, and I’m a different person now. We won’t have to interact that much. I’ll just stay away from him.”
She hugs me again, but quickly pulls away. “Let’s clean you up, sweetie.” She reaches for a tissue in her purse. “Did you want to stay… you don’t have to. I can make up an excuse.”
I’m mortified. “Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know… I’ll tell them you had an allergic reaction. The shrimp cocktail must have come in contact with nuts.”
“But I’m not allergic to nuts,” I point out.
She smiles. “They don’t know that.”
We’re both quiet for a long beat.
“I know what that boy put you through, Kayla. The last thing I want to make you do right now is sit next to him, and make idle chit-chat.”
“Thanks. Mom,” I say. “I’ll be fine next time. I was just completely caught off guard tonight. I wasn’t prepared, but I’ll be fine at the wedding, I promise.”
“I’m sure you will.” She fishes out a container of mints and offers me one, almost as if she knows what I’ve just done.
The door swings open, and an elderly lady smiles at us. My mother grins politely. I can’t muster the courage.
“Let’s go,” I say, and as soon as we’re out of the washroom, I give her one last hug. “I’ll call you.”
