Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 132834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
“What I was going to say,” my mother continued, “is that you’re settled. You have a home, and I’m so glad it’s near me this time, even though I know you loved Richmond. You have a job that you love. Nicky likes school. Maybe it’s time to start dating. You’re too young to be alone for the rest of your life.” She raised her eyebrows in a quick, silly wiggle before taking a delicate sip of tea.
“Absolutely not,” I said.
“Savannah, honey—”
“Just no, Mom.” Raising a hand to stop her protest, I continued. “I love you, and I know you’re saying this out of love, but no. I just— I don’t know, just the thought of going on the apps trying to figure out which way to swipe? What to wear? What to say?” I shook my head in a firm negative. “I want to enjoy feeling settled before I shake things up again. Dating is too much right now.”
“I’m not buying that, Savannah,” she said, with that mom tone that told me I wasn’t going to weasel out of this conversation. “You can figure out anything you put your mind to.”
I sighed. “It’s not just that, Mom. It’s just—” I searched for the right words. “I don’t think I have it in me to be a good partner right now.”
“Are you still grieving Oliver?”
“No,” I said, so firmly that I realized it was true. “I think a part of me will always grieve Oliver,” I explained. “I loved him. And the way he faded away, the way he left us hurt in a different way than if he’d gotten sick or been hit by a car. I’ll always grieve the man I married, but this isn’t about Oliver. It’s just . . . I don’t know. I don’t think I have it in me to be a good partner right now.”
I picked up the ginger molasses cookie and broke off a piece, nibbling and thinking. My mother sipped her tea and waited. I’d always loved that about her. She was full of advice, but she always knew when to wait for me to get my thoughts together. Finally, my messy tangle of emotions coalesced into words.
“I love my work,” I said. “I love having you nearby and being able to spend more time with Nicky. I love my life right now. Even when it gets crazy and stressful and exhausting. I love the challenge, and I love being in charge. Plus, when the hell would I have time to date somebody?”
My mother raised one eyebrow and took another sip of tea before she said, “You make time, Savannah.”
“Well, what if I don’t want to?” I challenged. I’d spent so many years doing things for other people. Oliver. Nicky. People I loved more than life. People I wanted to take care of. But when was it time for me?
“I guess I just don’t want to make time for someone else, you know? That’s what a partner is—someone you share your life with, and I guess I don’t want to share.” I paused, letting the words fade. They were true, and being selfish felt right. More right than it ever had before.
“Honey,” my mother said, her voice gentle, something in her tone putting me on guard. “This isn’t about finding a husband, or even a boyfriend, but—” She huffed out a breath of air. “It’s been a long time for you. And everyone needs affection.”
“I get plenty of affection,” I protested.
“Savannah.” She drawled out my name in a sigh, rolling her eyes. “I’m not talking about affection from me or Nicky.”
Did my mother just tell me I needed to get laid? This must be what it feels like when your brain explodes. Even though we’d just admired the same ass, this was not the advice I needed right now—especially not from my mother.
Chapter Sixteen
SAVANNAH
“Mom, are you talking about sex?”
Her teacup clicked against the saucer. She picked up a mini vanilla scone left over from tea the day before, smoothly swiping raspberry jam over the top and adding a dollop of clotted cream.
Before she took a bite, she said, “Savannah, you’re human. You need food, sleep, exercise, mental stimulation, love. And yes, you need sex.”
She popped the scone in her mouth, leaving me staring at her, dumbfounded, my jaw hanging open. Had the very proper Miss Martha just told me I needed sex? Were we really going to talk about this?
“Eat the rest of your cookie, sweetheart,” she said.
I broke off a piece of the cookie, savoring the sweet molasses and warm ginger as my mind reeled. “Mom.” I sucked in a breath and decided to stop beating around the bush. “If you’re talking about orgasms, I can handle that myself.” I ended in an almost whisper. We were alone in the kitchen, but there were a lot of people in this house, and you never knew when someone might come in.