Chapter 25

 CANDACE

“CANDACE EVELYN WINTERS!”

My entire body stiffened.

I turned toward the voice and immediately recognised my mother standing at the edge of the driveway with one hand resting on the handle of her suitcase.

For a second, I just stared at her.

“What are you doing here?”

Her eyes moved from me to the car parked behind me. Then they shifted to the man sitting in the driver’s seat.

Her expression changed.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

I glanced back at Elias.

He had already lowered his window, and when our eyes met, I could tell he understood that this was probably not a conversation he needed to be part of.

I stepped farther away from the car.

“My car broke down.”

My mother looked toward the Civic parked on the roadside a short distance away before returning her attention to me. “And that man?”

“He stopped to help me.”

“He stopped to help you?”

“Yes.”

She looked at him again.

I could practically see the questions forming in her head.

“He’s my professor.”

Her eyebrows lifted.

“Your professor?”

“Yes.”

She looked at me, then at Elias again, and I suddenly wished I could disappear.

Elias opened his door and stepped out of the car. “Good evening, ma’am.”

My mother straightened slightly. “Good evening.”

“Her car broke down a few minutes ago, so I offered to bring her home.”

My mother nodded slowly.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Elias glanced at me. “I’ll see you in class, Ms Winters.”

I nodded. “Thank you again.”

He got back into his car, and I watched as he pulled out of the driveway.

I thought that would be the end of it.

It wasn’t.

My mother waited until his car disappeared around the corner before looking at me again.

“He looks way older than you.”

I closed my eyes briefly.

“Mom.”

“What?”

“He’s my professor.”

“That doesn’t answer what I said.”

“He’s not that old.”

She gave me a look.

I sighed. “He’s probably in his thirties.”

“Exactly.”

“What exactly?”

“He looks way older than you.”

“He is older than me. He’s a professor.”

“And you were sitting in his car at night.”

“My car broke down.”

“I heard you the first time.”

“Then why are we still talking about it?”

“Because I’m your mother.”

I stared at her.

She stared back.

There was no point arguing with that particular sentence. My mother had always used it as if being my mother automatically made every opinion she had legally binding.

She picked up her suitcase.

“Are you going to let me stand outside all night?”

“You’re the one who came without telling me.”

“I texted you.”

“You said you were coming next week.”

“My plans changed.”

“You could have told me your plans changed.”

“And miss the opportunity to surprise my daughter?”

I looked at her suitcase.

“You brought luggage.”

“Obviously.”

“For how long?”

“A few days.”

I groaned quietly and opened the front door.

“Come in.”

She walked inside, and I followed behind her, already knowing I was about to hear everything I had managed to avoid hearing over the phone.

The moment she stepped into my living room, she looked around.

I watched her eyes travel across the room.

Then she looked at me.

“When was the last time you cleaned?”

I stared at her.

“I cleaned yesterday.”

She pointed toward the coffee table.

“Then what is that?”

I looked.

A cup sat beside my laptop.

“Coffee.”

“I can see that.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Because I want to know why it is sitting there.”

I picked up the cup.

“Problem solved.”

She watched me carry it into the kitchen before turning her attention back to the living room.

“You look tired.”

“I am tired.”

“Are you sleeping properly?”

“Yes.”

She gave me a sceptical look.

“I am.”

“You look like you aren’t.”

“I started a job.”

She turned around.

“A job?”

“Yes.”

“Since when?”

“About a week ago.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I was going to.”

“When?”

“I don’t know.”

She shook her head. “You really don’t tell me anything anymore.”

I leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Mom, I have been busy.”

“You’re always busy.”

“I have classes.”

“I know.”

“I have assignments.”

“I know.”

“And now I work part-time.”

She frowned.

“Where?”

“Bellini’s. It’s a restaurant near campus.”

“You’re waitressing?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to make some money.”

“You could have asked me.”

“I don’t want to ask you for everything.”

Her expression softened for a moment, but only for a moment.

“I never said you had to.”

“I know.”

She walked farther into the apartment and looked at me again.

“And you need to eat properly.”

“I eat.”

“You’re thinner.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“I literally ate before I came home.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

I sighed.

She smiled slightly.

“Still stubborn.”

“I learned from you.”

“That is not something you should be proud of.”

I laughed despite myself.

For a few minutes, things felt normal.

My mother complained about the apartment. I complained about her arriving without warning. She asked about my classes, my job and my friends, and I gave her mostly true answers.

Mostly.

I didn’t mention Elias beyond the explanation she’d already heard.

I didn’t mention the party.

I didn’t mention the stranger.

And I definitely didn’t mention that the professor who had just driven me home was the same man I had spent weeks trying not to think about.

My mother eventually sat down on the couch and crossed her legs.

“I still don’t like that you were in his car.”

I looked at her.

“Mom.”

“I’m serious.”

“He was helping me.”

“I understand that.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“He’s much older than you.”

“He’s my professor, not my boyfriend.”

She gave me a knowing look.

“I didn’t say he was.”

“You were thinking it.”

“I am your mother. I’m allowed to think.”

I shook my head and walked toward the kitchen.

“You worry too much.”

“I worry the correct amount.”

“That’s debatable.”

She laughed softly.

I started unpacking the food I’d brought home from work while she continued talking about how much I had changed since leaving home. She complained that I sounded different on the phone, that I didn’t call often enough and that I always seemed to have something more important to do whenever she tried to speak to me.

I knew she was criticising me, but beneath it was something I understood.

She missed me.

I just wasn’t going to tell her that I missed her too.

After a while, the apartment became quiet.

My mother leaned back against the couch while I sat across from her, finally enjoying a moment without being interrogated.

I thought we were done.

Then she looked at me.

“Oh, before I forget.”

I looked up.

“What?”

“I need you to come somewhere with me tomorrow.”

I frowned. “Where?”

She paused for a moment before answering.

“To see your father.”