Page 97 of With a Cherry On Top

I nod, watching her struggle to walk. “Yeah. But Miss Delaney, her teacher, says she’s doing better. I’m worried about Mother’s Day, but...she’ll get through it. We both will.”

Mom settles onto the chair next to mine in the silence that wraps around us. She pats my hand and asks, “You and your brother had a fight?”

Of course.She’s always been perceptive, which didn’t often work in my and Logan’s favor when we lived at home. “Yup. Just the usual, don’t worry.”

“Was it about me? About...” She looks down at her hand, clenches it, then tucks it away.

“No,” I lie. “He accused me of sleeping with a friend.”

She blinks, like she doesn’t understand the problem with that.

“A married friend,” I clarify.

For a moment, her lips form a small circle. Then: “Are you?”

For fuck’s sake.“Mom!”

“Oh, Aaron.” She cups my cheek. “You carry so much on your shoulders. All this guilt and pain, all these impossible standards you set for yourself, the responsibilities you feel like you have to face alone...You know what happens when gas inside a bottle builds up?”

“The cap pops off?”

She nods, smiling wide. “So who is she?”

I open my mouth. Close it. I should say no one and move on—brush it off like I’ve done with everyone else prying into my life lately. But it’s Mom, and I’m scared shitless of all the things Iwon’tget to share with her.

“Her name’s Charlotte.”

“Charlotte,” she repeats, like she’s weighing it on her tongue. “What does she do?”

“She’s...” I think of her profile on TOP and clear my throat. “She models.”

Mom narrows her eyes. “Oh, Aaron. Are you making up girlfriends again?”

I roll my eyes. “No, Mom. I’m not fourteen. And she’s not my girlfriend, but sheisa model. She likes designing clothes too.”

“A modelanddesigner.” Her eyes brighten. “She must be smart and beautiful. Can I see her?”

Her TOP profile flashes through my mind again—Charlotte, sprawled out and bent like a pretzel, wearing next to nothing, watching the camera like she’ll fuck you then fuck you over.

“I don’t have any pictures.”

Mom hums a disappointed sound. “Well, is she single?”

“Yes, she is.”

“So what’s the problem?”

That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? “There’s several. First of all, I have no idea what weare. She’s not exactly looking to settle down.”

“Are you?”

I open my mouth, then close it. “I guess that’s the second problem.”

“And the third?”

“She’s, um . . . young.”

Mom’s posture stiffens slightly. “Notinappropriatelyyoung, right?”