Today's session with doctor Jennings feels special. Not only because it's my birthday but also because of everything I needed to tell him. 

"I have one more question," I say once he's finished taking notes. 

He takes off his glasses and rests them next to the keyboard on his desk. "Sure."

"Have there been any advances in pontine glioma treatment?"

Dr. Jennings gives his notepad a light tap with his Montblanc pen. "Not enough to improve the outcome of the disease."

"What about the trials?"

"It all depends on the case, and my colleagues probably know more, but I don't remember reading about any significant progress."

"I see."

"One day." Dr. Jennings sighs. "Let's hope it happens while we're still here. But as your therapist, I forbid you to have sad thoughts today. Are you going to celebrate? Because you should."

I grab my jacket from the arm of the couch. "I'm going to the group home, and Kenny wants to do something in the evening."

Dr. Jennings slides his glasses back on and gives me a curious look. "The Hill Cottage, right? Since you've mentioned it, I have a question for you."

"Of course."

"I want to foster a child, but I have no clue where to start. In all honesty, I haven't looked into it yet, but I assume I'd meet the requirements."

"This is the best birthday gift anyone could've given me." I clap. "I'll give you Mary's number, okay? She'll explain the procedure to you."

"Please do," he says, his smile swinging free. "And once again, Happy Birthday."

I feel hopeful when I leave the hospital, but hope turns to dread on the drive to the group home. I've been carrying the key to Mom's locker for months, but today I'm finally going to retrieve the things she left in it. 

I haven't become brave overnight, but parting ways with my past is crucial for my mental health. I'd rather focus on my future than keep obsessing over the answers I won't get.

Forty minutes later, I park next to the Hill Cottage. The silence that greets me when I step into the familiar entryway tells me Mary and Nora must have taken the kids for a walk.

I dash down the long hallway and halt next to Nora’s office. The door is unlocked, and I tiptoe into the achingly familiar room, clutching the locker key in my clammy hand.

It's like swimming in the cold ocean water — all you need is a leap. Going in little by little will freeze your body and kill the desire to subject yourself to the torture of the low temperatures.

I jam the key in the lock and twist it. A whiff of Mom’s scent hits my face as I throw the locker door open. It's been years, but memories assault me. It's too much, and I reach into the locker blindly. I need to get whatever she left in it and get out of here. 

My fingers touch Mom’s scarf first. Then, they find a framed photo of my parents and me and a small jewelry box. I take everything, shut the locker, and insert the key in the lock.

The office door whips open, and I jump. 

“Tara,” Nora says from the doorway, flattening a palm over her chest. 

The picture slips from my useless hands and plummets to the floor. Thin shards of glass fly in every direction. I crouch down to pick them up, hoping Bast’s mom doesn't see my face that's growing hotter by the minute from the embarrassment.

“I'm sorry,” I mutter, reaching for the biggest piece of glass. “Some of my mother's things were here. I just wanted to collect them.”

Nora rushes over and squats next to me, gently shoving me aside. “Don't apologize, and don't touch anything. You'll cut yourself. Take the picture, and I'll get the broom.”

I retrieve the photo from under the shards. The three of us smile at Cara, who took the photograph in our garden. A few seconds of looking at the image are enough for me to wish I hadn't found it. 

Nora starts sweeping the floor, and I carefully gather the broken frame to help her and busy myself with something. A piece of paper I hadn't noticed is taped to the carton that was behind the picture. I'm tempted to throw it away, but maybe Mom left something for me.

I unglue the tape and unfold the page. 

A list in Mom’s handwriting takes up the entirety of it.

I blink and read what seems to be random names and last names. Why would she write them and hide the list like that?

“Move a little, please,” Nora says.

I fetch the small jewelry box and jump to my feet, letting her get the rest of the glass pieces.

Nora tosses everything in the trash and glances at the box in my hands.

“I don't know what's inside,” I say, registering the question in her eyes.

She rests the broom against the locker, chuckling. “I'm sorry for being so nosy; I just know the store. No other place has those little flowers on their packaging. Ray bought me some earrings there when we were dating. That was such a big deal for a broke student. I wore them every day. Still do sometimes. ”

It must be something my father bought for my mom. Did she want me to have it? No other person would open her locker, and she knew that.

I lift the lid. A butterfly stares at me, the tiny gemstones on the spread wings sparkling. My mouth falls open, and Nora gasps beside me.

“Oh my God, it's so beautiful.”

I close the box. “Very. I just had no clue my mom had it.”

“Maybe she wanted to treat herself to something pretty,” Nora says. “And speaking of treats, come on, let's have some coffee. I haven't seen you in forever, and I wanted to thank you for recommending me for this job.”

“No need to thank me, but I won't say no to coffee.”

“Awesome." She rubs her palms together. "The kids won't be here for another hour. Mary took them to the park. I would've gone, but I had stuff to do.”

I shove the scarf, the photo, the list, and the box with the necklace into my tote bag and cast one last glance at the locker. 

It really is over this time.

***

Nora and I sit at the terrace of the "Parisian Dream," the new coffee shop she said she wanted to try. It looks quaint with turquoise chairs and pink flower arrangements on the round tables. The designer did a great job making the cafe stand out.

“I love pretty things,” Bast’s mom says, curling her hands around her mug with a cappuccino. “Thanks to you and my job, I can afford some now.”

I take a drink of my latte and smile at her. “Seriously, it's nothing.”

“Don't say that. To someone who spent two years jobless, it's everything.”

My thoughts veer to my job I've neglected for weeks. I need to pull myself together and get back on track if I don't want my reputation to suffer. 

“Tara.”

I lift my eyes to Nora’s face. Her expression is soft, and she covers my hand with hers. “Are you okay? You look a bit off. Did my son do anything?”

I swallow to make way for words. “We're…”

“Dating. I know.” Nora squeezes my fingers. “That's another thing I'm grateful for. You're good for Sebastian. He hasn't been so happy since…”

The line of my sight drifts to an empty table on my right. “Since Zoey.”

“So, you know. I'm glad he told you.”

I'm glad he did, too. He let me in and bared his heart, but despite his last text, I didn't rush back to our apartment. I need Sebastian to be sure he's ready.

Nora expels a sigh. “Zoey was a nice girl, and what happened was a tragedy. He visited her grave almost daily and lied to me about it, knowing I would nag him. Can you blame me for worrying, Tara? I wanted my son to enjoy his youth and live, not punish himself for something nobody could fix.

“He had this absurd idea of not being enough to save her. How could he if the best doctors couldn't? Her family consulted every specialist here and in Europe. But my stubborn son blamed himself, drank, and refused to get help. But then something changed, and when he brought you home for Christmas, I felt so relieved.”

I toy with a packet of sugar, my eyes downcast. “I'm just…I'm scared he's not ready.”

A wistful smile curls Nora’s lips. “If you’d heard him talk about you, you wouldn't say that. They were just kids. I'm not saying my son’s feelings weren't genuine, but life throws lots of curveballs our way. Sometimes it takes losing someone to find our true match. And I know you're his.”

Her eyes lock with mine, and she winks. “Mothers always know.”

***

When we return to the group home, it's quiet, although we were away for longer than an hour. Nora tells me to follow her to her office, but as I make a few steps down the hallway, the door to the living room bursts open, and the kids barrel toward me.

“Surprise!” Mason yells. Laughter tinkles in the air, and at least a dozen small arms try to pull me into a clumsy collective hug.

Giggling, I let them squeeze me and then lead me into the room where a birthday cake and colorful balloons are waiting for me.

I blow out the candles while the kids sing “Happy Birthday.”

“Congratulations, old lady,” Mason says with a crooked grin. “Let's hope you'll stop sucking at chess now that you're twenty-one.”

I stab my piece of cake with a fork and fake a scowl. 

“I have a gift for you,” Mason says, laughing.

The tips of his ears grow pink as he gets something from the pocket of his pants. “I made it. Hope you like it.”

I rest the fork on the plate and extend my hand. “I already love it. Give it to me.”

Mason places a black beaded bracelet on my palm, and I immediately slip it onto my wrist. “It's beautiful, Mase. You have a bright future in fashion.”

“In chess.” He puffs out his chest. “You’ll hear about me one day.”

I ruffle his hair, knowing he hates it, and plant a kiss on his cheek. “Not one day. Very soon.”

***

It's after five when I park in the mansion’s driveway. Cara must be tired of waiting for me, so I slam the door of the Maserati shut, grab my things, and dart to the house. 

The front door is unlocked. I take off my shoes and stroll to the kitchen, guided by the delicious aromas wafting from it.

“Hello,” I sing, standing in the doorway.

“My baby!” Cara swings around, nearly knocking a pan off the counter. “Happy Birthday, Tarita.”

I walk over and give Cara’s plump cheek a sound smooch. “Thank you. Sorry for taking so long to get here. The kids surprised me with a little party.”

“Well, I'll feed you anyway.” Cara braces her hands on her hips. “The man candy doesn't give you enough food.”

“I'll tell Kenny you call him that,” I say. “Let me wash my hands.”

“Tell him, tell him.” Cara grabs two plates from the stack in the cabinet. “Maybe he'll want to meet me.”

The look I give Cara earns me a slap on my butt. She tells me it's bony, and Bast won't have anything to grab if I don't eat well. Over the next hour, we devour the steaks she made, and when we sit on the couch with coffee mugs and my birthday cake on the platters, I'm forced to unbutton my jeans.

“I need a break from food.” I huff, sagging against the cushions. “It was delicious, but I can't breathe. And I wanted to talk to you about lots of things.”

Cara takes my platter and leaves it on the coffee table. “I think we'll need a drink.”

She waltzes out of the room and returns with a bottle of Baileys. It's Cara’s guilty pleasure, and it was also my mom’s.

Cara pours the liquor into two glasses and raises hers. “I'm sorry if you hate speeches, but here it goes. You're the most brilliant and the prettiest young woman I know. And you deserve all the happiness in the world, baby. To your twenty-first.”

I sniffle, and Cara crushes me to her chest.

“You just had to make me cry, right?” I whisper.

“No shame in crying. Drink, and let's talk.”

I don't know if I'd be able to talk about my father's crimes without alcohol in my system, but the creamy drink makes the words roll off my tongue. Sharing the burden makes me feel better. For once, I don't want to handle everything on my own. I need Cara’s wisdom and a plan. The boat might be sinking, but we don't have to drown with it.

Cara smoothes her hair gathered in a sleek bun. “What a mess. How could he? Now I understand why the detectives always asked about some girls. They were here today, by the way. Here and at the lurking boy’s house. But guess what? He's missing. I haven't seen him in days.”

Chills rock through me. “Missing? Did they tell you that?”

Cara nods. “And guess what? They searched my car. Detective Solano was nice about it. Of course, I did nothing, but remember when I told you someone took it? I think they know who it was, but they didn't say a thing.”

Everything spins, either from the Baileys or the never-ending secrets. “Let's make it worse, then.” I push myself off the couch under Cara’s curious gaze and go to get my purse from the foyer.

“I finally opened Mom’s locker,” I say, reentering the living room. “And I found something.”

I sit and give the jewelry box to Cara, expecting to see surprise on her face. 

All she does is open it and set it on the coffee table after a glance at the necklace. “Inger didn't throw it away, after all.”

“Did Dad give it to her? That's what I thought at first, but he wouldn't choose that. Mom loved discreet things.”

“My poor girl. My poor girls, both of you.”

Cara wipes her eyes and refills our glasses. “Drink, Tarita. I guess it's my turn to speak.”

As soon as my glass is empty, Cara sighs. “It wasn't your dad, of course. Everything your dad has ever given your mom is in this house. She cherished every gift of his.”

I lean forward, bracing my elbows on my knees. “Then who?”

A glower breaches Cara’s mouth. “Blake, the lurking boy’s father. And before you make the wrong conclusions, let me tell you your mom never gave the poor bastard the time of day. She was madly in love with her husband, but Blake was so infatuated he didn't care.”

I shake my head as if, by doing that, some of it would make sense. “I don't get it. Blake left when Mav was a kid.”

“And you can't imagine how bad it made Inger feel. The butterfly was Blake's parting gift. She didn't want it, but he refused to take it back. Your mom would never cheat, Tarita. And she loved that poor lurking boy. Speaking of Inger, I need to give you something.”

Cara stands and saunters out of the room, and I press the heels of my palms to my eyes. Blake and my mom? Is that why Mav was acting so strange? Did he find out? Does he blame me for breaking his family? Except I didn't. Neither Mom nor I would hurt him or Blanche. Blake chose to abandon his family. It's on him. Besides, he was doing well when I last saw him, and Mom has been dead for years.

A folder is under Cara’s arm when she reappears. “Inger told me about this lots of times.” She hands it to me and sits by my side. “I just never thought I'd be the one to give it to you.”

I flip the folder open. A picture of a modern house is on the first page. It has square windows, a sleek exterior, and minimalistic details.

Cara kisses my cheek. “It's yours. Your mom built it in Norway and wanted to give it to you once you turned twenty-one. She said she wanted you to reconnect with your roots.”

Sadness seeps like rot through my bones, erasing all traces of joy. A trip to Norway was our dream — my mom's and mine.

But she left me. And I have no choice but to do everything we planned alone, wondering why I wasn't enough for her to stay.

Well, lots of secrets. Again. I guess you're wondering when I'll stop and just info dump everything at once.

No such luck. We gotta work for that information😂 in all seriousness, this book is going to end me.

For the impatient ones, spoilers. Bast didn't leave Tara without a birthday gift. And the next chapter might be NSFW, school or any public places. Although if you want I'll just fade everything to black.

Theories, guys. Also, do you think Tara and Bast need to get together already?  Do we forgive Sebastian? Do we like Cara? Blake? Mav?

More soon.

❤️