Chapter 63: Sixty Three

There’s something about being home that makes everything feel different. Like you are a child again. Small, happy, back in your mother’s arms.

My childhood bedroom still smelled like lavender and dust. It had that peculiar smell that rooms would develop when they were not being lived in. Posters I hadn't taken down still clung to the walls. And tucked in the corner, the desk where I used to journal about crushes and college dreams.

I picked up my journal, leafing through the pages. 16 year old me could never guess the kind of life 23 year old me was leading right now.

I had barely set down my bag before Mom was wrapping me in a tight hug. “You look tired,” she murmured, pressing her lips to my temple. “You’re not working yourself too hard, are you?”

“I’m in a master's program,” I mumbled into her shoulder. “Overworking is kind of in the job description.”

“You’ve lost weight,” she said, looking me over as she pulled away from the hug. “Are you eating enough?”

“I’m fine, Mom. Exams.”

She clicked her tongue but hugged me again. “Let’s sit. I want all the updates.”

Dad greeted me with a loud “There’s my girl!” and squeezed me into a bear hug that made me laugh really hard, the breath being knocked out of me in his tight grip.

Dinner was already laid out. Spaghetti and meatballs - comfort on a plate. We sat around the table, and for the first twenty minutes, everything felt almost normal.

They asked about classes, professors, Cassie. I gave safe, surface level answers.

It was when Dad leaned back in his chair and said, “So, any handsome scholars caught your eye yet?” that the ease came to an end.

I scoffed. “God, Dad, no.”

“Come on. You're twenty three. College is when people meet their soulmates.”

I shrugged. “Not if you’re drowning in research papers.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough.”

But Mom was watching me closely. She didn’t laugh. She just refilled my water glass and said nothing, which was louder than any question she could’ve asked.

After dinner, I offered to help clean up, and Mom didn’t refuse, which was rare. We moved through the kitchen in silence for a bit, hands busy but minds elsewhere.

She passed me a stack of plates to dry and then finally said, “Willow.”

“Hmm?”

She turned to face me, a towel in her hands, brow furrowed like she was solving a puzzle she didn’t like. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

I hesitated. “Yeah.”

“You’ve been… quiet. Not just now. Even over the phone lately. Distracted.”

“I’ve just had a lot on my plate. School is intense. I’m applying for an RA position, there’s finals, and..”

“And what?” she pressed gently, but her eyes were narrowing.

I swallowed. “Just… life.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Your dad teased you about boys, and you clammed up. That’s not like you.”

I dried my hands too quickly, fumbling with the towel. “Because there’s nothing to say.”

“Willow.”

Her voice had that sharp, knowing edge now, the one that used to make me confess things in middle school without her even asking.

“I swear, Ma, I’m not keeping anything huge from you,” I said.

She studied me like she could see through the words, right through my lies. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“No!”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. I just… I’ve been stressed, and,” I paused, took a breath, and stupidly, stupidly added, “And maybe there’s a person I shouldn’t like.”

That was all it took.

Her eyes widened. “A person you shouldn’t like?”

I winced. “Forget I said that.”

“I won’t. Who is it?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Is it a professor?”

My heart stopped. “Why would you even guess that?”

“You just did.” She folded her arms. “You flinched.”

I looked down, suddenly too aware of the floor beneath my feet, of the pounding in my chest.

“Willow.” Her voice was soft, pitying.

“It’s complicated, Mom.”

She stepped closer. “You’re seeing a professor.”

“I’m not..,” I started, then sighed. “We’re… it started before I knew he was one. And now we’re just…trying to figure it out.”

Her jaw clenched. “You’re dating someone who has power over you at university?”

“He doest. Ugh, Mom, it’s not like that. It’s not about power. It’s…Declan, he…he cares about me.”

Mom closed her eyes for a long moment. “Oh my god. Declan Ashwell?”

I stared at her in horror. “You know him?”

“You mentioned him once. Said he taught your class.”

I slumped onto a kitchen stool. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it?” Her voice softened. “Willow, I’m your mother. I’m not going to scream or shame you. But I need to know. Are you safe? Are you being manipulated? Are you being blackmailed?”

“No. He’s… he’s good to me. He’s kind, and complicated, and he pushes me in ways I’ve never experienced before. And he respects me.”

She sat down next to me. “Do you love him?”

My breath caught. “Yeah. I do.”

She was quiet. Then, “And you think this can survive the mess it’ll create if it becomes public?”

“I don’t know. But we’re trying to be careful.”

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I know,” I whispered. “I don’t want that either.”

She eventually reached for my hand and held it tight.

“Just promise me one thing,” she said softly. “That you’ll keep your eyes open. Love can feel like the safest thing in the world… until it’s not.”

I had been so sure of Declan. Of how much he loved me, of how much I loved him. Of how our love would be enough to fight all the odds that were stacked against us.

But when every single person you knew was warning you against it…who did you trust?

“I want to meet him,” she said calmly.

I blinked. “What?”

“Declan.”

I closed my eyes, groaning. “Mom…”

“I’m not asking for the full family introduction. But if you’re seriously seeing this man, especially someone older, someone who teaches you, I need to meet him.”

“He’s not just someone who teaches me,” I mumbled. “And I don’t even know if that’s a good idea right now.”

She tilted her head. “Why? Because you’re not sure about him? Or because you’re scared of what I’ll think once I see him?”

“That’s not fair.”

“I’m not trying to scare you, Willow. But you’re making big decisions. Life changing ones. I’m your mother. I need to know who’s influencing those decisions.”

I looked away. “He’s not manipulating me, Ma.”

“I believe you,” she said softly. “But love can cloud judgment. I just want to see him with my own eyes. Understand who he is… not just the version you give me. Is that too much to ask?”

The truth was… it terrified me.

Still, I found myself nodding.

“I’ll talk to him,” I said quietly.

She squeezed my hand. “That’s all I ask.”