Hold Me Close - Talia Hibbert Page 0,288

your mother?”

She was speechless for a moment. Then, clinging to habit and family pride, she asked, “Why would it be about my mother?”

His mouth twisted, a grim tilt that couldn’t be labelled a smile. “She calls you a lot, and then you stare at the phone like you want to kill something—or maybe like something’s coming to kill you.”

Rae forced herself to shrug. “We don’t get on.”

“Then why do you always pick up the phone like you wish you could call her back?”

She felt like he’d unravelled her. He was one of those top hat magicians and the coloured hankies he tugged out of his sleeve were her rainbow of problems. Rae huffed out a laugh that sounded disturbingly like a sob.

"Hey, now,” he said quickly, squeezing her hand. “We don’t have to talk about this. Ignore me. Drink your wine.”

This time, her laughter was a little less tragic. “You make me sound like a baby with a bottle.”

“If you were a baby, your bottle would be Duke. Wine will have to do.”

She managed a smile and took a sip, but the deep red tasted sour. It barely fit on her tongue, either, in between all the words crowded there. Finally, she said, “Did you ever tell anyone else about your sexuality?”

He smiled, raking a hand through his hair. “Funny thing about that is, once I told you—once I got it out—it didn’t feel like some big secret anymore. I haven’t gotten around to mentioning it, because it’s not weighing on me like it was. But I will. In fact, I’ve, uh… well, there’s this forum for demisexual and other ace/arospec people, and I’ve been a member for a while. Haven’t really said anything, but I’m thinking about it. To meet people, you know? To make friends.”

For a moment, the weight of her misery lifted. He looked tentatively hopeful and adorably determined, and it made her heart swell. “That’s good,” she murmured with a smile. “That’s really good.”

“Yeah.”

A pause. Rae’s smile gentled, then faded. “I want to tell you about my mother.”

Her words took them both by surprise. The syllables huddled together as if she’d rounded them up and shoved them out into the world.

Zach nodded. “Okay. I’d like you to tell me.”

“Because we’re friends, so we share things,” she said. That’s all.

“We do,” he replied, with a sweet sincerity that made her want to curl up in him like a blanket and hibernate for the next fifty years.

“Right. So.” She rubbed her clammy palms against her jeans. The words felt thick and sticky in her mouth, her body’s last attempt at preventing this cardinal sin. You’re being disloyal. Keep it in the family. Don’t tell anyone, or they’ll think badly of her.

Usually, she couldn’t bear that idea. But she remembered telling Zach about Billie, and the way he’d said instantly, Do we hate her? That we had rearranged something fundamental inside Rae. She could accept Zach’s righteous indignation on her behalf in a way she couldn’t bear anyone else’s.

“I don’t hate my mum,” she said, just to be clear. “But she’s not easy to get along with. Most days, being around her makes me feel like shit, but I can never explain why. When I try—when I ask her to stop what she’s doing—I get all tongue-tied and confused, and she has an excuse for everything. Then she gets upset, and somehow, I’m the one hurting her, and by the time the conversation’s over, I just, I feel like I’m going nuts.”

Zach’s expression was tight. “I see.”

“I don’t want you to say anything,” she blurted. “I mean, I don’t want to bitch about her. I do love her. She does love me. She’s my mother.”

Something about him seemed to soften, ice turning to cool water. “I know, sweetheart.”

“I just… Ugh. I don’t know why I’m moaning about this when I haven’t done anything to change it. Sorry. This is pointless.”

“It’s not,” he said firmly. “You want to talk, you talk. Changing her is not your responsibility.”

Rae nodded and heaved out a huge breath, like she’d been underwater. She knew, logically, that he was right—and that knowledge surprised her. Usually, when she tried to talk about her mother, she ended up feeling worse. She’d told a few friends years ago, but she’d barely been able to explain. By the time she’d finished, it all sounded like harmless mother-daughter arguments.

Even now, she wanted to give Zach examples—to tell him about the times she’d been reduced to tears as a kid, a