CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

F inn

I thunder up the steps of my parents' towering, intimidating townhouse. The delicate tulips and roses in my mother's glossy black flowerboxes have been switched out for sturdy kale and purple cabbage.

It occurs to me that my mother might be lunching at one of the many perfect hotel restaurants found in this half mile with her equally immaculately put together friends.

Please be home.

I ring the doorbell.

The housekeeper ushers me into the living room. Golden light splatters through the lace curtains, and everything is immaculate. More importantly, my mother is home. More worryingly, she's currently glaring.

My mother raises a perfectly plucked brow and sets aside her New Yorker . "You've graced me with your company."

"You sound displeased."

Her eyebrows narrow. Oh, yeah. That's her displeased face. "Why did I read online that you split from that perfectly sweet husband of yours?"

My face must crumple because her eyes soften, and she rises at once and sweeps me into a hug. "Oh, Finn."

I wrap myself around her. She's shorter than me, much more slender, but right now all the strength in the world comes from her. It certainly doesn't come from me. And Noah, Noah is gone.

"What happened, sweetheart?" she asks .

The last time she called me sweetheart I was a teenager, and I rolled my eyes and said that was absolutely not me, not anymore. But now I don't say anything.

I don't know what to say.

Noah and I were together, and now we're not. My heart aches, as if some player shot a puck straight there. But my pain won't go away with rest and ibuprofen and the careful evaluation of my athletic trainer.

No way.

"You better sit down," my mother says, walking me to the sofa. She glances around, then takes her tea from the table beside her armchair and thrusts it into my hands. "Sip it. You'll feel better."

"Tea won't replace Noah, Mother."

She smiles. "No, I don't suppose it will. Now, are you going to tell me everything?"

"Um..." There are so many secrets between Noah and me, and I don't want to reveal everything. "Noah and I got married quickly."

"I've forgiven you for not inviting me to your wedding, dear."

"No, I mean, we got married three days after we met."

My mother's eyebrows leap upward, then her shoulders ease. "But you'd known each other for years beforehand? Online? That's how your generation does it, right?"

I'm silent, and she squeezes my knee.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," she says, which is how she begins most things that I should be ashamed of, but I don't call her on that. "Think of all those mail-order brides in the old days. They didn't even have proper pictures in those days. And you have video."

"Noah followed me online for years," I say. "But I didn't know him. We said that to seem less scandalous."

"Oh." My mother draws back, her mouth rounded. "Oh."

I slide my gaze to her. "Are you appalled?"

Her lips twitch, then she says airily, "I'm merely taken aback that you care about not seeming scandalous."

I try to laugh. The sound isn't pleasant, to be honest, and my mother wrinkles her tiny, upturned nose.

"Why did you marry him if you just met him?"

"There was some alcohol involved, but..." I press my lips together. "I don't think I would have married anyone, no matter how much alcohol was involved. It made me lose my inhibitions."

"You don't have many inhibitions to begin with."

I scowl. "I really liked him."

"I know, sweetheart."

"I mean, I really liked him."

"That's because you loved him."

I bury my head in my hands and wonder whether I can scurry out of the room, and we can both pretend I wasn't ever here.

My insides feel squishy and unpleasant, as if someone's taken a compact roller to them when I wasn't paying attention.

I haven't talked to Noah about my feelings, not really. I thought I had more time. I thought I had a year. I thought I had a year to convince him how wonderful we were together .

"I suppose you're correct," I say finally.

"Of course, I'm correct. I'm your mother. So, you liked him so much you decided to marry him after three days?" Her eyes glint.

"Basically."

"Have you been with men before?"

I shake my head. "I never thought about it before I met Noah. And I only thought about it after we got married."

"Because it was convenient?"

"Because it was Noah," the words come out more angrily than I intend, and I close my eyes and do one of those breathing movements that I always recommend in my videos. "I wanted to spend all my time with him from the moment I met him. I showed him around and threw him a party." I scratch the back of my neck. "That, um, didn't go well."

"I've heard about it. Top of the Boston hockey gossip."

"I know the marriage doesn't make sense."

"It must have been confusing."

"It didn't feel confusing at the time. My main worry after we got married was that he might not like me."

My mother snorts. I turn my head, and she attempts a daintier sniff. "That boy loved you."

"No."

She stares at me. "Yes. Yes, he did. Definitely."

I shake my head again. "No, he left." I narrow my gaze. "You shouldn't say confusing things to me. I'm sure after a breakup, protocol says you're supposed to tell me how terrible the other person is."

"In that case, you can call me rebellious."

We both laugh, because my mother, Susannah Carrington, is many things, but no one would ever call her rebellious.

"Did he tell you why he was going to leave?"

"He wanted me to be free." I frown. "Which is silly. He said he didn't want us to have to pretend to be married and that we were in love."

"Well, you married someone at your intelligence level," my mother mutters.

"What did you say?"

"I think I need some of that tea. I seem to have a horse in my throat."

I give her a hard stare, but she is busy sipping the tea she gave me.

"I bet Noah still loves you. Why don't you ask him? You still work together."

"No."

My mother's eyes widen. "Why not, Finn?"

Patience is not one of my mother's top traits. There's a reason I'm impulsive, after all. I squirm at the note of exasperation in her voice.

"Noah thinks I don't want to be married to him. Because it was an accident. He thinks I'm being honorable by saying I want to be with him. And he seems to be against that for some reason." I inhale. "I have an idea."

"Heaven help me."

I give her a stern look. "No, you need to help me. Please?"

My mother's eyes soften. "Of course, dear. Now tell me your plan. "

And so, I do.

Then her eyebrows do a lot of raising, and I do a lot of assuring her that this is what I want.

Then I remember that I still don't have Noah, and my whole discussion might have been as fanciful as some of the children's books Vinnie is always giving Stella.

But I'm going to try.

"Mother," I say. "Can we do some shopping together?"

Her eyes widen. "I like shopping. You've always seemed quite accomplished at shopping."

"I'm a multi-talented man."

"How did I raise such a sweet, dumb child?" She shakes her head. "So where are we going? Bergdoff's?"

"I thought you might be able to recommend a place."

"Oh? I'm not great with men's things, honey."

"I want to go to a jeweler." Her eyes round, then she makes a pleased noise, and hugs me.

"He might not say yes," I warn.

"But then, he might," she whispers, and I nod, but I remember that I also didn't expect him to leave. I need to fight for us and win.