Page 73 of The Candle Palace (Jamison Valley 6)
But my heart had softened toward her. Mom knew she’d made a horrible mistake. She’d been blind to my feelings and had believed the wrong person. She admittedly was far from perfect—Dad hadn’t been perfect either. But she was still my mom and the only parent I had left.
So I’d let go of my own resentment toward her years ago and accepted her for who she was. A woman I saw once a year, at most. Someone I called on her birthday, Christmas and Mother’s Day. And a grandmother who desperately wanted to meet her grandson.
“I’m over it,” I told them. “I really am. I only wish Milo could get over it too. It’s been years and she’s never going to change. I get that he’s angry at her on my behalf. It’s actually sweet that he’s so loyal. But it would take a lot of stress away if he’d just grin and bear it for a weekend. She’ll swoop in and sweep out, then who knows when we’ll see her again.”
“I bet he’ll come around,” Maisy said. “Once he cools off.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Milo never stayed mad at me for long. And he really was coming at it from a good place.
It didn’t help that his parents were perfect and set the bar high. Milo expected other parents to be as wonderful as his own. Kirk and Teresa were the best in-laws in the world. They loved me as a daughter and worshiped Hudson. When I’d arrived in Prescott, they’d become family.
Like my friends.
I looked around the room, crammed full, and smiled. Felicity and Sabrina were in the same chairs they’d been in for an hour. Emmeline and Maisy were sitting on the plush rugs at their feet. Gigi was in the pedicure chair at my side.
Once I’d started my story, no one had wanted to leave the room and miss a bit. Maisy had been the last one to get a massage and she’d cut it short by fifteen minutes.
She and Milo were as good of friends as they’d ever been. They met often for coffee at the Prescott Café and would spend a morning every week gossiping. She helped him pick out my birthday presents if he was stumped for ideas. And she’d found a doctor worth the title, worth her heart.
“What happened with your brother?” Felicity asked.
“After he crashed into the house, the judge ordered him into rehab. He detoxed and stayed a month. Then he left and got right back into drugs. He repeated that cycle twice—jail, rehab, relapse—until he met a judge who wasn’t so kind to a man who would repeatedly get behind the wheel drunk and high. He was put in jail for six months, then ordered into a three-month rehab facility. He came out sober and stayed that way.”
Denny had been clean for three years. He worked at the same facility where he’d been a patient and had found a calling for helping other addicts. He called me about once a month and always sent me flowers on my birthday. He was planning to come out this summer and see Montana for the first time.
My relationship with Denny was the best it had ever been. We talked about Dad. We talked about memories from our childhood. And we avoided the topic of Mom. Denny had surprised me by taking my side in her marriage to Vernon. I hadn’t told him the whole story until years later—Mom had already divorced Greg by that point. But it hadn’t stopped Denny from ripping her up one side and down the other.
“And Luna?” Sabrina asked. “What happened with her? Did you hear from her again?”
“She lives in LA and works for the Times as a reporter.” A rush of pride made me smile wider. “She called me a few weeks ago to tell me the guy she’s been dating for a couple years proposed. She asked me to be one of her bridesmaids.”
“Aww.” Gigi sighed. “I love it. And I love your story. I think it’s my favorite.”
We’d all had wild, whirlwind romances with the men in our lives. My story was the tamest one, to say the least. There’d been no murder or arson or kidnapping or mafia involvement. But we all had one thing in common.
Love.
I was glad I’d told the girls our story and relived those early days. Because even though he was making me crazy tonight, my love for Milo had never faded. It had only grown stronger. And our story?
“It’s my favorite too.”
“I’m sorry.” Milo greeted me at the door to the garage, his arms open. “I’ll be nice to your mom. Or, nice-ish. I promise.”
I collapsed into his chest. “Thanks. And I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have called you an asshole.”
“You didn’t.”
“Yes, I did. Just not to your face.”
“And that explains why Maisy sent me six middle finger emojis in a text earlier.”
I laughed and leaned away. Then I slid my hand up and caressed the scar under his jaw. It had completely faded after all these years. So had the one on his forehead. The texture would always be different, but the angry red from the first day we’d met was gone.
“I don’t want to fight about Mom. She is who she is. She’ll breeze in and out of here so fast we will hardly notice. And hopefully, she’ll be great with Hudson.”
“You’re right.” Milo took my purse from my shoulder and went inside. He hung it up on a hook and reached for my coat. He went to unzip it but stopped when he saw the broken zipper. “I guess it’s time for a new coat.”
“Yeah.” I shrugged it off and he took it from me too. “How was Hudson?”
