Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
It rankles. Her words are like nails on my own personal chalkboard, but I take a deep breath and choose not to scratch back. It might be time to treat her like a mom and see how she responds. “I’m scared. I’m scared that I’m making a huge mistake and I’m going to come to really love him and he’ll figure out what a bad bet I am.”
Her expression softens in a way I haven’t seen in years. “Sweetheart, what is that about? You shouldn’t be scared. He seems very nice.”
“He is. That’s the problem. He’s too perfect.” He’s not. He snores sometimes and he makes the bed too fast in the morning, and often when he’s playing a game with Darnell, he loses track of time, and that annoys me. And even his imperfections somehow make him perfect.
“No one is perfect. Not even your father. He could annoy the hell out of me at times, but it was worth it. Are you sure this isn’t a work thing? Did he do something at work that made you push him away? You have to understand that it’s his business, too. He should have a stake and a say in it.”
She thinks I’m the bossiest boss on earth. “He doesn’t want a say in it. He wants me to do all the business stuff so he can let his creativity flow or something. I don’t know. I mean yes, what prompted it was about business, but not in the way you think. Nick founded a competing company that looks like it might get to market before we do. I’m pretty sure he did it to get back at me. How can Heath not resent me for that? He swears he doesn’t, swears he doesn’t expect anything except we do our best, but won’t he hate me someday?”
She seems to think about it for a moment. “You might be right. You might be wrong. We can’t know how things will go. We can only move forward with the knowledge we have at the time.”
I let those words sit between us before I ask the question I really want to know the answer to. “Would you change the past?”
“What do you mean?” Her whole body goes tight.
I decide to press on. “If you could go back, would you do it all over again?”
She holds the mug between her hands as though soaking in its warmth. “Of course.”
“Mom, it’s okay. I’m not a kid. You can say it out loud. Do you ever think about what your life would have been like if you hadn’t married him? Hadn’t had me?”
Her hands tighten around her mug. “No. There’s no use in regrets.”
“But you have them.” I keep poking and prodding. “We all have them. I regret not seeing how much pain you’re in.”
Her eyes flare. “I’m not…” They close and when they open again, she seems older to me. “That’s nothing for you to worry about, Ivy. And I know you think I wish it had been you, but I don’t. Not for a second. I wish he was still alive. I don’t wish anything else. That’s not true. I wish…I wish I could still cry about it. Isn’t that the oddest thing? I miss crying. I did it so often in the first years and then it’s like they all dried up.”
It’s the opening I need. “Mom, have you considered talking to someone?”
“I’m talking to you,” she points out.
“I’m not a professional.”
She frowns as though she doesn’t quite understand. “Why would I need to talk to a professional? I’m not thinking of hurting anyone.”
I don’t tell her how much she’s hurt me. That’s not what she needs to hear. “But you’re not enjoying your life.”
Her head tilts, and I can tell she’s looking for a way to turn this around. “From what I can tell, neither are you.”
I nod. I’d made a bunch of decisions the night before. “And that’s why I’m going to figure some things out. I’m going to find a way to be okay with who I am. I’m going to figure out how to be content and how to stop pushing for something that won’t ever make me happy. I’m going to try to love me a little. I think I’ve cried more in the last six months than ever in my life, and you’re right. It’s felt good. It felt freeing, like a weight’s lifted. What if someone could help you find that again? What if it’s all a chemical reaction in your brain and you need some help to rebalance?”
I see the minute I lose her. She stands, smoothing her blouse down. “I do not need medication, and I don’t like the implication that I am mentally ill. If you don’t like me, feel free to leave.”
My heart aches because she’s not listening to me. She’s taking everything wrong, so I say the only thing I can. “I love you, Mom. I want you to be able to love you, too.”