She rubbed her forehead and groaned. “What were you thinking?”
That was the problem, she hadn’t been thinking. She’d been reacting. And she’d melted the same way she had a decade ago.
By the time she reached her parents’ house, Emma was disgusted with herself.
She went in through the kitchen door. “Mom?”
“In here, sweetie,” she called from the living room.
Emma moved that direction, her brain foggy from fatigue and stress. Debbie Reeves sat in one corner of the sectional sofa, her feet up on the coffee table, knitting in her lap. Their orange tabby swished her tail from the perch on the cushion at her shoulder. Her mom was still fit and vibrant. She’d aged well and looked at least eight or ten years younger than her sixty years.
Ginger meowed in greeting, and Emma headed toward the cat to scratch her head.
“I just don’t know what I did wrong.” Her mother studied the stitches between her needles through the readers perched on her nose. “You’d think after redoing this thirty times, I’d figure it out.”
“Where’s Dad?” she asked.
Emma must have sounded as bad as she felt, because her mother’s gaze jumped to her face and scoured her from over the tops of her readers.
“He’s at the gym.” Debbie dropped her knitting and took off her glasses. “What’s wrong?”
The sympathy in her mother’s voice dug into Emma’s wounds, and tears stung her eyes.
“Oh, honey.” Her mom opened her arms. “Come here.”
Emma dropped to the sofa and let her mother hold her.
“Sweetie, is it work?”
“No, no.”
Her mother leaned away and scanned Emma’s face. “Then what’s going on?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but the ugliness of the situation closed her throat. “Liam… Dylan…”
She didn’t know where to start.
“What?” Debbie asked, confused. “Liam or Dylan?”
“Both.”
Her mother’s hand curved around Emma’s. “Take a deep breath.”
Emma forced her throat open and sucked in air. It settled her. For a split second. Then all the turmoil came rushing back. She covered her face with both hands. “What a mess.”
“Start at the beginning.”
Emma rushed through her visit from Dylan at the hospital, the secrets she’d kept from Liam, breaking off the engagement. But she skipped the part about kissing Dylan. Still, by the time she finished, Emma was crying, and her mother’s eyes were wide. “Oh dear.”
Emma wiped her sleeve down her face. “I’ll never get this right. I may as well just line up a sperm donor now if I’m going to have kids. I’m too fucked up to get married again.”
“Honey, there’s nothing wrong with you. And you’ve got plenty of time for marriage and kids.” She wrapped Emma’s hand in her own. “Love is complicated. There are always peaks and valleys. Stops and starts. Forks in the road. It’s never linear.”
“Linear or not, I want off this stupid ride.”
Emma slumped against the cushions, curling her legs underneath her.
“You’ve been struggling with this decision about the wedding for months,” her mother said. “I kept hoping it would work itself out.”