Page 112 of Across His Line

His mother is at the table. She looks different. Her hair is pulled back in a clip, a little messy, and she’s in a long gray cardigan over leggings, with reading glasses pushed up on her head and a mug of coffee in both hands. No earrings. No dress. She looks like somebody’s mom. Somebody’s mom with a very expensive cardigan, but like a mom. A real mom. I have one of those, and I know what they look like when they don’t want to be one.

There’s food on the table. Eggs in a covered dish. Toast. A bowl of cut fruit, strawberries and melon and those little blackberries that cost seven dollars a box. A plate of pastries from last night, croissants and something with almonds on top.

I can’t even comprehend what I’m looking at.

She looks up when we come in. Her eyes go to my neck. Just for a second. Then back up to my face, and they stay there.

“Good morning, Tessa.”

I offer a shy smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Waleska.” I hold out the clothes. “Thank you for these.”

She looks at the stack in my arms. At how it’s folded. Something moves in her face that I can’t read.

“You can put them on the chair,” she says. “Sit. Eat something.”

I put them on the chair, and I sit.

Rafe sits next to me, not across. He pulls the plate of toast toward me without saying anything. Then the eggs. Then he pours a glass of orange juice and puts it in front of me.

I reach for the coffee pot.

“Don’t drink that if your throat hurts,” he says. “It’ll—”

“Rafferty,” his mom warns.

He looks at her.

“She’s her own person,” his mother says. “Let her answer for herself.”

He closes his mouth.

He sits back in his chair and doesn’t say anything else.

I look at him. I look at his mother. I pour myself coffee. My hand is a little unsteady, and some of it goes on the saucer.

My eyes look at his hands for a second. They’re in a fist. He’s sitting at a breakfast table getting told to let me do what I want. I don’t know how to act. I drink the coffee. It burns going down. I don’t let him see.

“How are you feeling this morning?” his mother says to me. Not to him. She’s looking right at me.

“I’m good,” I say, a little too enthusiastically, so I add, “Fine.”

Rafe adjusts himself in his seat, and she looks at him.

He eats a piece of toast.

“Do you need to call anyone?” she says. “You’re welcome to use the study, if you want somewhere private.”

I look at my phone, face down next to my plate. I already know what’s on it. I looked in the bathroom with the water running. Three texts from my grandma, from last night and this morning.

Are you okay?

I’m so sorry honey.

Please call me.

“Thank you,” I say. “But that’s okay.”

She nods. She doesn’t ask anything else. She just takes a sip of her coffee and lets it go.