Page 91 of The Write Stuff

Huxley made a face and pulled his mouth away from the doughnut. “Cake doughnuts are not my thing,” he complained, looking at my chocolate-covered breakfast — there were sprinkles, too — with disgust.

“No, you like the much more respectable bear claw,” I agreed. “Even if they have maple frosting inside.” Now it was my turn to make a face.

He laughed at my forlorn expression. “You love maple syrup,” he reminded me. “You drown your pancakes and French toast in it to the point where I’m worried about your teeth because of the sugar.”

“That’s different. A doughnut already has perfect flavoring. You don’t need to mess with it.”

“Ah, but I prefer pastries, not doughnuts.”

It was an interesting distinction, and I had to think about it. “Fine.” I pulled the doughnut back. “Don’t pretend that I never offered you the best thing that will ever be in your mouth, though.”

His expression turned devilish at the unintended double entendre, and I gave him a serious, scolding finger shake. “Do not take it to a weird place,” I warned.

It was too late. He caught my finger and pulled me flush against his chest. I took a bite of doughnut to stave him off, but it didn’t matter. His mouth covered mine before I could swallow, and he gave me a long, soul-sucking kiss.

“That was gross,” I sputtered when I finally pulled back.

“That will teach you to taunt me with doughnuts,” he replied.

“Just so gross.” I wiped my mouth and beamed at him. Yes, I really was the happiest I’d ever been.

Then a shadow appeared in front of us. As an author, I knew what that shadow meant to our stories. Shadows always meant darkness. Nothing terrible could pop our bubble, though. I was reading too much into it, per usual. I was the harbinger of my own doom far too often. Well, not this time.

Slowly, I allowed my gaze to track up until it landed on my mother’s face. I jolted so hard I dropped my doughnut. “Mom,” was all that escaped.

Huxley went rigid next to me, his face draining of color. “Aggie,” he said. Then his eyes moved to the person with my mother. “Mick.”

I wanted to find a hole to crawl into and die. “What are you doing here?” The question came out strangled.

“We were just about to ask you that.” Mom looked me up and down, then focused on Huxley. She took special note of his arm around my waist and then looked back at me. “Well, this is …” She didn’t finish it out. She didn’t have to.

Mick, thankfully, took control of the conversation. “I always thought there was a spark between the two of you. I figured it was far too late to take advantage of it. I guess not, though.”

“Um …” Never before had I been this tongue-tied. I had no idea what to say to my mother, however. Denying what she’d seen with her own eyes was a non-starter. Plus, well, I wanted her to know. I didn’t want to hide my relationship with Huxley, even if it was only from one person.

Mick put his hand on my shoulder to still me. When I found the courage to look into his eyes, he seemed caught between amusement and pity. He didn’t speak to me when he opened his mouth, however. “How are you doing, Huxley?” he asked. “I’ve read some stories about you, and the writing seems to be going well.”

“It’s going good,” Huxley agreed. He rolled his neck. We hadn’t been expecting this, so even though he was better under pressure than me, he wasn’t prepared for what this conversation would look like. “How are you?”

“Good,” Mick replied. He seemed to be searching for the right thing to say. “You know, I never got a chance to say goodbye to you back then because … well, you know why.”

Huxley’s eyes darted toward Mom, but there wasn’t hate reflected there, just sadness. “Yes, I know why.”

Mom looked pained but didn’t say anything.

“I’ve always wanted to have a conversation with you,” Mick continued. “Maybe, during this visit, you can carve out some time for us to have coffee, just the two of us.”

Huxley’s eyes went wide, and I thought for certain that he was going to lose it. Instead, he took me by surprise — I think Mick was surprised, too — when he nodded. “I would like that. There are some things I want to talk to you about as well.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Mick managed a half-smile. “As for this, well, I can’t say I’m surprised.” He waved between us. “I mean, I am, but I’m not, too. Does that make sense?”

Huxley let loose a hollow laugh. “I guess.” He turned his attention to Mom. “I know this is weird to you and that there’s a long conversation in our future, but it really is nice to see you.”

Mom didn’t bark at Huxley or give him a hard time. I didn’t expect her to. It wasn’t Huxley’s fault that his mother had lost her mind and attacked Mom in front of thousands of people.

“Huxley, it’s good to see you.” Mom leaned in and hugged him. It was surprisingly fierce. “One of the greatest regrets of my life has always been that we never got a chance to say goodbye to one another. You were like a son to me back then.”

I made a face. “Oh, don’t phrase it like that,” I complained.