Page 37 of Tied and Tangled
“Is that you telling me you approve of Aiden?”
“He’s older than you,” she reminded me, and I laughed.
“So is Hugo!” I pointed out. My oldest sister, Ruth, had started to see her own boss.
“He is. I just worry about you. I worry about all my girls.”
“And we worry about you, too,” I replied, not letting my eyes waver from her wide ones. “Whatever is going on, just be safe.”
“Going on?” she asked, crossing her arms in front of her.
“With ‘book club’,” I said in quotations.
“Aria…”
“You deserve to be happy. When you’re ready to share that, we’re all ready for it.” I winked at her and turned around to start the stove. I bent to get a pan, and when I looked over my shoulder, she was still standing there.
“You love him? Aiden?” she asked. I didn’t have to think for a moment to answer her.
“I do.”
“Y las niñas?”The girls.
“I love them, too.”
“Raising someone else’s kids—"
“They’re mine,” I cut my mom off. She meant well. Trying to warn me, protecting me. But she had no idea how firmly I believed that. She watched me for a moment before she nodded.
“I’m going to shower, and I’ll come back to help you.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I’m sure I do. I bet we’ll have company early today.”
“Company?” I frowned. It was Christmas Eve. Maybe she had actually gone to book club and one of my tias, my aunts, would pop over later on? But my mom didn’t answer me.
“It’s never easy to watch your girls grow up.” She smiled sadly. “But I’m proud of all of you. I’m proud of you, Aria. I hope you know that.”
“I do.” I swallowed back emotions that hit. “Mom?”
“You should get dressed up before you start breakfast,” she said, walking over to me then turning the stove off.
“What? Why?”
“Just trust me.” She grinned and held my face with both hands. “I can’t believe my girl’s twenty now.” She kissed my forehead. “I love you, my sweet Aria.” She dropped her hands, and we hugged.
“Mom, are you okay?”
“Yeah.” She breathed in, and when she pulled back, her eyes were slightly glassy with unshed tears. They almost seemed happy ones.
“Go get ready.” She winked.
Something was going on. She wasn’t going to tell me, but I was going to do as she said. She knew something, and she wanted me to be ready for it.
An hour later, I was dressed in a creamy white chunky knit sweater that hung off my shoulder I had paired with faded skinny jeans and brown leather booties. My hair was tossed up on top of my head in a messy bun. I was wearing lip gloss and mascara and was almost done cooking breakfast.
When the doorbell rang, my mom came into the kitchen instead of answering the door. “You should get that,” she ordered, pointing toward the door. I frowned.Me?