LOVE BEYOND

CHAPTER TWO: Mall Trips and Mom Talks

Sunday mornings always felt different in the Lawson house. Quieter. The rush of weekdays was gone, Danny was already at Toby’s house for the day, and the only sound drifting through the kitchen was the steady hiss of the coffee maker and the soft scrape of a spoon against a cereal bowl.

Victoria sat at the counter, hair still mussed from sleep, her favorite oversized sweatshirt swallowing her frame. She idly spun the silver spoon between her fingers, pretending to focus on the book open in front of her. Truth was, her mind wasn’t on the novel. It was on what Mom had said last night before bed.

“We’ll shop for Angela’s room today, Make it feel like her own space.”

The words had buzzed in her brain all night, sharp and restless. Angela’s room. Angela’s things. Angela’s presence.

Mariah Lawson entered the kitchen, her scrubs traded for jeans and a crisp white blouse, hair pulled into a neat bun. Even off-duty, she looked impossibly put-together. She poured herself a mug of coffee, leaned against the counter, and studied her daughter with the practiced eye of a nurse who never missed a detail.

“You didn’t sleep much, did you?”

Victoria blinked. “What makes you say that?”

“Because you’re stirring air. There’s no cereal in that bowl.”

Flushing, Victoria dropped the spoon. “I was… thinking.”

“About tomorrow?”

Victoria hesitated, then nodded. There was no use lying. Mom always knew.

Mariah’s expression softened. “I know it’s an adjustment, Vic. But this could be good for us for you.”

“Good how? By turning my room into someone else’s?”

“By reminding you that life doesn’t stay the same forever. Change can be uncomfortable, but it can also be exciting.” She took a sip of coffee. “Now go get dressed. We’ve got shopping to do.”

.......

The drive to Home Haven, the closest big-box store, was filled with the usual Sunday playlist Mom loved—soft ‘90s pop that Victoria secretly knew all the lyrics to but refused to sing. The parking lot shimmered under the late-morning sun, filled with carts and the faint smell of hot asphalt.

Inside, the store was alive with movement: families debating curtain colors, couples arguing over lamps, kids running down aisles with throw pillows clutched like trophies.

Mariah pushed their cart with the focus of a woman on a mission. “Alright. Angela’s room. What do we need?”

Victoria trailed behind, dragging her fingers over neatly folded comforters. “A lock on my door?”

Mariah shot her a look. “Try again.”

They started in bedding. Mariah held up a lavender duvet. “Pretty, right?”

Victoria wrinkled her nose. “Too… princessy.”

“What about this one?” A bold teal comforter, silky to the touch.

Victoria pictured it in the spare room. “Actually… yeah. That works.”

As they moved from aisle to aisle, Victoria realized something: she was helping. Despite her resistance, she was weighing in on Angela’s style, Angela’s future space. Each pillow, each curtain rod, each tiny lamp added up to the shape of a room that wasn’t hers.

Halfway through the trip, Mariah tossed a fluffy throw pillow into the cart. “And what do you think about boys?” she asked casually, too casually.

Victoria froze. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Mom smirked, scanning a shelf of fairy lights. “Any cute ones catch your eye? Someone you might want to bring over once in a while?”

“Mom!” Victoria hissed, her cheeks flaming. “Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely not, or absolutely no one yet?”

“Both!”

Mariah chuckled, amused by her daughter’s horror. “You’re eighteen, Vic. It’s okay to be curious. To want… more than books and ice cream.”

Victoria busied herself with straightening a set of pastel storage bins. “Maybe. But not everyone’s built for that kind of thing. Some of us are perfectly fine being boring.”

“You’re not boring,” Mariah said firmly. “You’re thoughtful. And thoughtful people deserve connections just as much as anyone else.”

The words landed heavier than Victoria wanted to admit. She rolled them around in her mind as they paid, cart piled high with décor.

They carried their bags to the car, then walked across the street to Maple & Bean, the little café that smelled like fresh cinnamon rolls and always played indie music too soft to recognize. Their usual booth waited near the window, sunlight spilling across the table.

Mariah ordered her standard black coffee and turkey club; Victoria chose a grilled cheese with extra pickles, her comfort meal.

As they ate, the conversation drifted easily from Danny’s latest obsession with dragons to Mom’s stories from work. But eventually, Mariah set down her coffee cup and fixed Victoria with that look again—the one that saw straight through her.

“You’re nervous about school.”

Victoria toyed with a pickle slice. “Maybe.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s just…” She struggled for words. “I’ve been homeschooled my whole life. What if I don’t fit in? What if everyone already knows how to do the whole… social thing?”

“You’ll learn,” Mariah said simply. “No one expects you to be perfect. They’ll expect you to be you. And that’s enough.”

“Is it?”

Mariah reached across the table, squeezing her daughter’s hand. “It always has been.”

For a moment, the café melted away—the clink of dishes, the hum of conversation, the barista calling out orders. It was just the two of them, mother and daughter, holding onto each other like anchors.

Mariah smiled, soft and sure. “And when Angela gets here, you won’t be alone in figuring it out. Maybe she’ll challenge you, maybe she’ll annoy you. But she’ll also be someone to learn from.”

Victoria rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling back. “You make it sound like she’s a saint.”

“No,” Mariah laughed, “but she’s family. And family changes everything.”

By the time they got home, the afternoon sun had mellowed into gold. They hauled the bags upstairs, laughter echoing down the hall as Mariah nearly tripped over a rogue sneaker.

The spare room—soon to be Angela’s—was plain and untouched, walls a neutral beige, furniture simple and practical. A blank slate.

Together, they transformed it. The teal comforter spread neatly over the bed, fairy lights draped in careful arcs along the wall, the bold throw pillows adding pops of color. The mirror leaned against the corner, catching the late light and scattering it across the room in little bursts.

Victoria stood back, surveying the space with crossed arms. “It looks… different.”

Mariah adjusted a curtain rod, smiling. “It looks like someone’s going to belong here.”

Victoria bit her lip. Belong. The word tasted bittersweet.

They worked quietly for another hour, arranging and rearranging until the room hummed with a kind of life it hadn’t before. When they finally sank onto the bed, side by side, Victoria felt an odd mix of pride and dread.

Mariah nudged her shoulder. “Not bad for a Sunday, huh?”

Victoria chuckled softly. “Not bad at all.”

As the sun dipped lower, painting the room in warm orange, Victoria imagined Angela stepping into this space for the first time. Would she love it? Would she hate it? Would she notice the care tucked into each detail?

Mariah rose, brushing her hands together. “Alright, I need to prep for my shift. You hold down the fort?”

“Always,” Victoria said.

When her mother left, Victoria lingered alone in the new room. She ran her fingers over the comforter, traced the outline of the fairy lights. For a moment, she almost wished the room would stay empty, safe and untouched.

But deep down, she knew better.

Change was already on its way.