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Shopping with Mom is pretty painless. Parts of it are even kind of fun. She’s a lot more stylish than I am. She helps me pick out a short, black, sequined T-shirt dress, although she couldn’t seem to help herself from saying the length might lead to some judgmentalstares from the more conservative Arabs. After I reminded Mom about her promise to keep those kinds of thoughts to herself, she held her hands up in defeat before apologizing.

Growth.

When it’s time to pick out shoes, we struggle to come up with a solution since Axel and I are already the same height. I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who’d feel emasculated by a taller (or older) woman, but I also don’t mind being on his level. Physically speaking.

After amassing a mountain of shoeboxes, we settle on a pair of lace-up Oxfords, which sounds kind of nerdy but look amazing on.

Over dinner in the food court, I show Mom a few of Axel’s TikToks. She nods along and even smiles a couple of times.

“He’s good,” she says.

“He’s more than good,” I say, taking back my phone. “He’s amazing. You should see how the crowd lights up around him. It’s a vibe that can’t be portrayed through the screen.”

“What’s his endgame?” she asks, picking up a fry.

“Like with dancing?”

“Yeah. Is it something he wants to do for a living?”

“I don’t know,” I say, tearing open a ketchup package. “He’s sixteen. Pretty sure he doesn’t have his whole life mapped out yet.”

“You do,” she says, raising a brow. “And I thought it was important to you to be with someone who shared the same values and ideologies.”

I dip a fry into the ketchup and pop it into my mouth. “Axel’s really smart. He’s in advance placement at school. Plays soccer and used to swim competitively. He’s good at almost everything he does. I’m not too worried about his future.” Or ours. I can’t exactly tell my mother this is all fake.

“I ran into Ben the other day,” she says, wiping the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

“Oh yeah. What’s new with that traitor?”

“Jamie.” Mom tilts her head. “He says you’ve cut him out of your life completely. He was upset about you not tutoring him anymore and ignoring his texts. He seemed really hurt.”

“Oh,” I reply, leaning back in my seat. I suppose I could have responded at some point to his texts, but I’m still so angry with him. For interrupting a private moment with Axel. For accusing Axel of being a womanizer. For betraying my trust and falling in love with someone else over the summer while I was still madly in love with him.

I do kind of miss him sometimes. He was so easy to shock, and I saw it as a personal challenge to come up with inappropriate jokes at the worst times. And he did really push me, in a healthy way, to set goals and meet them. This whole thing with Axel was supposed to bring me and Ben back together, but instead, all it’s done is push us further apart.

“Speak of the devil,” Mom says, glancing past my shoulder.

Ben strolls up to our table with a sheepish look on his face.

“Hi, Ben.” Mom smiles politely. “Would you like to join us?”

He looks down at me for approval. His long hair has been brushed back and tucked behind his ears. A glimpse of who he used to be shines through. I swallow before nodding.

Ben sits to my left and leans his elbows on the table. He’s dressed in a green plaid shirt and jeans and looks like a hot lumberjack. “What’re you two doing here?” he asks.

“Checking out the local architecture,” I say.

“Jamie.” Mom shoots me a cut-it-out look.

“I bought a dress.” I gesture to the garment bag draped on the chair next to my mother.

“What for?” he asks.

“I’m going to a wedding with Axel tomorrow.”

“Oh,” he replies, looking down at the table. “So you’re not coming over for Thanksgiving dinner then?” His tone is laced with disappointment.

“Shoot,” Mom says, glancing at her phone. “Kourtney Dixon just messaged me. Her six-year-old chopped off her hair with a pair of kitchen scissors and wants to know if I can squeeze her in.”