Page 86 of Mom Com

“Now please, close the door on your way out; I’m going to retire early.”

Even though I want to press further, I hear the plea in her voice, the demand that I give her space, and I know it would be wrong to force her into a conversation she isn’t ready to have. So, I nod and make my way out of the room, her unspoken grief shining a light on my own and forming into a throbbing ache in my chest. Because just like my mother, I’ve spent this past year turning my head, telling myself I’d deal with my feelings later, at some more appropriate time—a time that never seemed to come until last night. As much as I loathe to think it, we are more alike than we let on, never wanting to show weakness, guarding our inner selves with steel traps and iron fences.

My breath hitches, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I want to cry for my mother. For all that we never were and all that we’ll never be if we don’t change something. And while I stash that thought away, push it down so that I can carry through with my night, I don’t seal it off. I let it be, that blazing sadness, the small stuffed animal with arms outstretched that no one hugged, and I tell it to wait, that I’ll be back, that it’s not hopeless. Because I no longer believe it is.

CHAPTER26

Throwing Curve Sno Balls—

deceptive cream-centered chocolate cakes hidden under inviting marshmallow frosting and shredded coconut

The Buenaventuras’ party is like a dreamy holiday card: Crimson handmade Santas and pillared candles lining their fireplace mantles, two trees—an enormous one in their foyer that has a two-story ceiling to give it space, and a smaller family one in their living room. Candelabras fitted with pine-scented beeswax circled in holly and old rocking chairs draped with fake fur blankets and needlepoint pillows depicting snowy scenes.

The sheer number of guests is jaw-dropping. It’s as if they invited the entire town and then some. Practically everyone I’ve ever known from Haverberry stands in the Buenaventuras’ spacious rooms sipping mulled wine and eating puff pastries stuffed with goat cheese. Matt, his sister, and their dads, Jenna and her mom, Raff and his mom and dad, and on and on. It’s like flipping through an old photo album of my past, each complete with its own set of memories.

“Wow,” Spence says, which pretty much sums it up. “This is awesome.”

And while I might have disagreed with him yesterday, somehow the anxiety I’ve been experiencing in Haverberry is dulled, like an old wound that only aches in the rain.

“You said it, kid,” I agree.

He stops abruptly, pulling on my arm. “Holy cow, is that real?” He points to a three-foot, tiered chocolate fondue fountain in the dining room surrounded by fruit and confection and currently circled by a pack of children. “Sorry, but you’re on your own. I’m gonna need to get into that.”

“Go for it,” I say with a smile that he doesn’t see because he’s already gravitating toward it like a flame-drunk moth, not hesitating as he joins the group.

I’ve always admired that about Spence, his ability to confidently slip into social situations without an introduction. I asked him about it once and he just shrugged and said, “People are people, Mom.” And while I’d like to agree with him in theory, I’ve never actually felt that same species-level bond.

I make my way through the living room, saying friendly hellos and meeting people’s smiles, caught up in the holiday warmth, which is when I spot Liv near the living room window that looks out over the pond in their backyard. She’s got a tumbler in one hand and the other is resting on a beautiful girl’s waist whose tight curls tumble over her shoulders and down her back. And my heart swells. Liv did it. We both did. Maybe that plan wasn’t so cockeyed after all.

“Claudette?” I say, walking up to them with a big smile, giddy over what her presence means for Liv. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Subtle, Maddi. Real smooth,” Liv says, even though she’s clearly beaming under her cynicism. “Remind me to always recruit you as my wingman.”

“Ah, always so shy,” Claudette says to Liv with a Haitian accent. “And why shouldn’t your friends recognize me? I hope you gave them all such a detailed account.” While I’ve never heard the word shy used in conjunction with Liv, I’m not sure she’s wrong when it comes to matters of the heart.

Claudette winks at me, and instead of reaching out to shake my hand, she leans forward, kissing both of my cheeks. “Such a pleasure to meet you.”

“Same!” I say, a little drunk on my lack of emotional heaviness—a lightness that has been so markedly absent these past few weeks that I almost forgot what being comfortable in my own skin feels like. Also, I’m instantly charmed by how easy these two are with each other, how even though I just met her, I can tell Claudette is a good match for Liv.

“My God,” Liv says, eyeing me suspiciously. “It’s like someone stuffed you with sunshine and dipped you in sugar.” She raises an eyebrow at me. “Did you get laid?”

“Liv!” Claudette and I both object at the same time.

“What?” Liv says innocently. “I just want to know if I should be planning a DeLuca-Buenaventura union. ’Cause I have some pretty epic bachelorette ideas.”

“No, I did not sleep with Wilder,” I say with an insuppressible smile.

Claudette glances from Liv to me. “Oh!” Claudette says with recognition. “You’re dating Liv’s brother? How wonderful. Isn’t he gorgeous?”

I nearly choke on my breath. “Uh, no, um, we’re just work colleagues... friends.”

“And my brother isn’t gorgeous,” Liv corrects her. “He’s decent with above-average hair. But what I want to know is why you’re blushing like that, Maddi?”

“I’m not blushing.”

“You’re as scarlet as the tree skirt,” she says, taking far too much enjoyment in the whole thing.

“Enough about me,” I say, changing the subject with a whisk of my hand. “Tell me about yourself, Claudette. Believe it or not, you’re the first of Liv’s girlfriends that I’ve ever met. Very exciting stuff.”