Page 83 of Once Upon A Second Chance

Their inn of choice is the Mount Juliet Garden Lodge, the "fanciest" place in town, which is to say it has fresh muffins in the lobby and a pond out back that may or may not be stocked with koi.

I pull into the parking lot just past noon, stomach already tight with dread, and spot their sleek rental car before I even make it to the door.

Inside, my mother’s perched stiffly in one of the lobby’s floral armchairs, a designer scarf draped artfully over her shoulders.

My father stands beside her, checking his watch like he’s timing how long he has to endure rural America before catching the next flight home.

"Richard," my mother says, rising to kiss my cheek without actually touching me. "You look... well."

"Thanks," I mutter, forcing a smile.

"You've lost weight," she says immediately, scanning me with clinical precision.

"You always say that," I reply, a little sharper than necessary.

My father claps me on the shoulder—once, twice, quick and impersonal. "Good to see you, son."

"You too, Dad."

We exchange a few minutes of polite small talk about the flight, the weather, the lack of decent coffee shops nearby. Every word feels like it’s scraping against my nerves.

"This town is... charming," my mother says finally, glancing around the lobby as if she's worried about catching something. "But it’s such a far cry from New York. I can’t imagine there’s much professional opportunity here."

I bite down on my first instinctive response. "It's a different pace, sure."

"You’re wasting your talent," she says, waving one manicured hand. "You should be running a department. Teaching. Publishing. Not patching up tractor injuries."

My jaw ticks, but I stay silent.

For now.

We move to the tiny hotel café—which is really just a few tables and a coffee counter—and sit awkwardly around a rickety wooden table.

Iorder a black coffee I don’t want just to keep my hands busy.

Eventually, inevitably, my mother steers the conversation exactly where I knew she would.

"And personally?" she says, stirring her tea delicately. "I think being here must feel quite lonely. No stimulation. No suitable company. I assume there’s been no... romantic developments?"

Her voice is light, casual, but I know her too well. The trap is already set.

For a beat, I hesitate.

Old instinct tightens my throat. Old fear, old shame, old habits.

But then I remember Penny’s face when I said "no one."I remember the look in her eyes when she opened the door and told me to go.

And I refuse to do it again.

"No," I say, voice hardening. "There has been a romantic development."

Both of them freeze.

"I’m with Penny Morgan," I continue, steady and clear. "Again. And this time... I am more in love with her than ever."

My mother’s smile falters, and something cold flashes through her eyes. "Richard—"

"I don't want to hear it," I cut her off. "I’m not interested in your opinion. I’m not interested in your approval."