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I glance at my phone. Should I call them? Would that make things better or worse? What would I even say?
Calm down, I tell myself, trying to get a hold of my breath. But I can’t.
I can’t be alone right now. So I pick up the phone. Call the one person I know who’ll make me feel better.
Who’ll be on my side, and help me figure out what I should do. Because as sure as I was two days ago when I told Ford we were done, I’m really questioning that choice now. I should’ve listened to the inner voice that told me I wasn’t in my right mind.
Then again, maybe I was. I do believe I was right to want to prioritize my work. My gut is telling me that much. Missing my deadline was a big deal, and it’s not something that I ever want to happen again. I love what I do—well, the majority of the time—even if I kind of hate the idea of actually doing it at the moment. It’s not something I want to compromise on.
It’s not something I should compromise on.
But my gut isn’t so sure about the breaking-up-with-Ford-bit over it. Because I know a lot of the pressure I felt to be a good partner to Ford, and good parent to Bryce, I put on myself. And if I’m responsible for that pressure, I’m responsible for dealing with its fallout.
How do I do that, though, without sacrificing the things I love? Without that inch turning into a mile? Is it worth the risk?
Hearing my mom’s voice on the phone makes me start crying all over again. She shows up at my door an hour later, bearing the gifts of wine, chocolate, and a tray of Pastel Azteca.
She wraps me in a tight hug, the familiar scent of her lotion filling my head, and I start to feel the tiniest bit better.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks after we finish eating, crumpling a napkin in her hand. I told Mom that Ford and I broke up when she came over after he left the other day. She doesn’t know the details, though.
“It’s…complicated.”
Mom pours us each more wine. “I’ve got time.”
“I guess it comes down to this: I thought I could do it all. Have the career and the relationship and the kid, too. Be superwoman, basically. So I jumped in with both feet. Signed up for everything I could. The soccer coach gig, as you know. Doing this whole homemade pizza night thing. Date nights with Ford. All while wrapping up a book under a very tight deadline.” I let out a pained breath. “Shockingly, I fell on my face, and I learned real fast that I’m not cut out for that kind of juggle. It’s too much, Mom. I love Ford, and I love his daughter. But I just…I gave an inch. And like you said, you start giving inches, and suddenly they turn into miles.” I shake my head and turn away.
“Eva.” Mom reaches for my hand and gives it a warm squeeze. “Eva, mi amor, look at me.”
I turn back to her. Heart dipping at the furrow in her brow.
“You are never going to make the same mistakes I did,” she says. “I know that, and I think deep down you do, too.”
A tear slips down my cheek. “What makes you so sure of that?”
“You’re more ambitious than I ever was. More driven and aware. And I know you, Eva. I know you love me, but I also know you’re determined to have a much different life than I do.”
Shit, now I’m really crying. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Don’t be. I won’t lie, it hurts, but I understand. I admire that about you—how you have become an author in every sense of the word. You’re authoring your own story, creating your own happy ending. I admire myself for raising such a strong, passionate woman. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done.” She wipes away my tears with her fingers. “You’ll never give so many inches that you’ll end up stuck, mija. You know better than I ever did. Missing this deadline—yes, it’s a setback. But it’s not the major blow you’re making it out to be. You’re still on course to achieve your dreams. And you will. All of them. Including your dream of ending up with a man like Ford.”
“I do dream of that,” I say, sniffing. “But maybe I have too many dreams. Maybe they’re too big to fit into one life. And what if something big goes wrong? Something that rocks the boat way more than this flu did? What will happen to my dreams then?”
Mom looks at me. Eyes wistful. “You’ll keep chasing them. Because your dreams are bigger than any of the bad stuff that gets thrown your way. I’m here to help you. So is your father. So is Ford. I never had that kind of support. But you do. Things will be different for you, mija. That I can promise you.”
