“So, do you regret going?”
I shake my head, setting my glass next to his on the coffee table. “Not at all. While it was probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, I think it was necessary to start rebuilding the damage. So, thank you for making me go.”
Owen smiles, and I lean in to give him a kiss. “Amelia, you know as well as I do that no one can ‘make’ you do anything. I made a strong suggestion, and you agreed with it. That’s all.”
I scoot across the couch, closing the distance between us until my knees rest against his thigh. “Well then, thank you for suggesting I go.”
Out of nowhere, I release a yawn. “Jeez, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was this tired.”
Owen kisses my forehead. “Don’t be sorry, sweetheart. You’ve had a big day. Why don’t we head to bed?”
With another yawn, I agree, and we head to the bedroom to get ready for bed.
It doesn’t take long before sleep finds us both, and by morning, I wake up feeling more rested than I have in a few days—since before my dad found out about Owen and me the way he did, actually.
Owen’s still asleep when I wake up, and I decide to let him sleep in for a bit while I go and meet my mom for breakfast. After getting dressed, I leave a note on my pillow and kiss his cheek softly before slipping out of the condo. I borrow his car again, knowing he won’t mind, and I drive to the restaurant to find my mom already there.
She’s been seated in a window booth, and she’s sipping a coffee as I approach. Upon seeing me, she smiles brightly, always a morning person, and I wave back before slipping into the seat across from her.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Mom greets, her smile widening and her eyes glimmering with amusement. “You look extremely happy this morning.”
The undertone of her meaning won’t stay hidden for long, but I refuse to even acknowledge it as our server comes over to ask my drink order. “Coffee, please.” With a nod, she hurries to grab the carafe.
“Is there a particular reason you’re looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning?” Mom prods. She’s always been particularly nosy when it comes to my sex life, and usually, I’m quick to talk to her about it. We’ve been close in that regard, even if we haven’t been close geographically. But this? Well, telling her about my sex life with a man she’s been friends with for as long as my father is…well, it’s weird.
Still having not entertained her with a response, the server returns to fill my mug and take our orders. After thanking her, I pour a couple of creamers into it and scoop a little sugar in before giving it a stir.
“My evening was fine,” I reply, watching the black coffee turn brown as it swirls around in the white mug.
“Come on, Amelia. I miss these talks of ours. What happened to the girl who used to call me after sleeping with a boy for the first time?”
Keeping my face down, I look up at her through my lashes, arching one eyebrow. I don’t get a chance to reply before she shrugs and starts talking again. “I’ve always imagined Owen to be a very giving lover. Is he?”
My face scrunches up, a shiver of mortification and discomfort moving down my spine, and I drop my eyes back to my coffee. “Ew,” I mutter. “Mom…”
All she does is laugh. “Okay,” she acquiesces. “I’ll leave it alone. But know you can talk to me about anything, okay? Even if it’s with Owen. Yes, he and I may have been friends, but I can separate my relationship with him from yours if I have to. It’s just a little harder for your father to do that.”
“And if I don’t ever feel comfortable talking to you about my sex life with Owen?”
Mom smirks behind the rim of her coffee. “You will.” She takes a sip, and I shake my head.
The sad part is, she’s probably right. Eventually, everything will be back to normal.
“So, you talk to Dad?”
Mom nods. “Yeah, I called him when I got to your place last night. Told him I was in the city and that I was headed to see him this morning.”
Folding my hands in front of me, I listen intently, genuinely curious about what they talked about.
“He didn’t remember phoning me,” Mom says. “At first. As soon as I started telling him what he’d said to me, it all fell into place. Poor guy must have been beyond wasted.”
Guilt. That feeling of a lead weight dropping and taking root in the pit of my stomach is definitely guilt. My stomach churns around it, and I feel shame starting to seep in as well. “Yeah, well, I can’t blame him. Not after the way he found out.”