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“I figured it would be easier to speak with you here.”

Taking a full look at me, she scrunches her face in distaste. “What are you wearing?”

“Pajamas. And I’m not here to discuss my choice of clothing.”

“You should not wear those things outside of the house.”

I take a calming breath. “Is Dad home?”

“Non. He’s at work. Where you should be.”

“I hate that fucking job, Mom.”

She gasps, her blue eyes flaring wide in alarm. “Don’t be so crass.”

“I’m twenty-eight years old. This is the kind of language I use,” I argue.

“Not in this house.”

“Do you really want to argue about my language right now? I’m telling you that I hate the job you forced me into taking.”

She swipes her hand through the air. “Sometimes we must work jobs we do not enjoy. Until you get married, that will be your job.”

I can’t stop my laugh from dropping between us. “And then what? I get knocked up and raise a rich man’s babies? That’s not fucking happening. Not in this life or any other.”

“Ohmy. Who are you today?”

“I’m me, Mom. This is who I am outside of this prison. I’m crass and blunt and cold. I am everything that you taught me how to be.”

She presses a hand to her throat and shakes her head, staring at me with such disdain. Like she’s staring at a stranger that she can’t believe had the audacity to speak in her presence.

“This is Daisy Mitchell’s influence,” she declares.

I wet my lips, scoffing a dark laugh. “The only thing Daisy has done is offer me more love than I have ever seen from anyone in my entire life. So, yeah, I guess this is her influence. Because of her, I know that I deserve better, and I’m not afraid to shed all of the relationships in my life that have done nothing but drag me down.”

“I am your mother, Bryce. You cannot simply wish away our relationship because I don’t support the decisions you’re making.”

“Yes, I can. And I’m finally ready to do it. You haven’t been here for me for years.”

“The past is not why you’re here. We need to speak about you lying to me about your being in a relationship. I have cancelled dates on your behalf and upset several men who were excited to meet with you because you wanted to play pretend. But that is over, and now, we can go back to what we were doing before,” she says, straightening her spine with a smile.

“No. I’m done with those fucking dates. The only reason I put up with them was so I could avoid this exact conversation. I don’t. Want. To. Date. A. Man. Ever. Not now, and not in five years from now. Daisy Mitchell is my girlfriend.”

She laughs, but it’s a weak, disbelieving sound. “You say that now, but you could always change your mind. And stop it with the lies. I know the truth.”

“Thetruthis that I was too afraid of you to tell you how I felt and instead pulled Daisy into my mess. But that’s over now. Ilove Daisy Mitchell, and sheismy girlfriend,” I declare, my chin up and shoulders straight.

Mom balks and stands from her chair before striding toward me. I hold the doorframe.

“Do you have any idea how it makes your father look to have the town gossiping about his daughter lying about dating a woman only to be caught? It makes you look desperate and makes us look ridiculous to have believed you.”

“Is the problem here that I was lying about dating a woman or that I didn’t choose to pretend with a man?”

My question shocks us both. I’ve never dug into my mother’s opinion on my sexuality, but she’s never been outwardly upset by it. It was more that she had a preference, and I couldn’t blame her for that any more than she could blame me for not having one in the first place. But now, with all of this drama and the lies and hurt, I don’t know what to think. Maybe I just need to hear her say that she doesn’t care who I love, as long as I’m happy.

Her expression falls, eyes gleaming with unshed tears. I don’t know whether to believe they’re real or expect the worst of her.

“Your sexuality doesnotdefine you, Bryce. I have never thought differently.”