“Let me get off this phone. I need to concentrate in airport traffic.”
By the time I made it to the arrivals area, my mother was standing on the curb. When she spotted me, she waved. After parking the car, I walked over and hugged her.
It felt good to be in her arms again, to smell her perfume, to feel her warmth. I’d missed her. She moved to Paris a couple years ago to realize her dream of becoming a pastry chef. She’d spent so many years following my father’s lead that she’d left herself behind.
“Oh, babe,” she whispered. “It’s going to be okay. We all will miss Gemma.”
It made sense that Mom thought I was crying for the loss of a great friend. If she only knew the turmoil I was currently immersed in . . .
“Did you grab food?” I asked, rolling her large suitcase to my car. “If you didn’t, I can stop at your favorite restaurant.”
“We can do that later,” she said, sliding into the seat.
A few minutes later, I was on the road again. While I was driving, I was hit with an overwhelming urge to tell my mothereverything. We’d always been close. I talked to her every day, multiple times a day. She’d always encouraged an open line of communication, especially after my father left. And I’d taken advantage of it, almost sharingtoomuch.
“Did I tell you Rick texted me on my birthday?” she asked.
The mention of my ex-husband’s name put a stop to my hasty plan to spill my guts. “Oh?”
“Yeah, he said he was thinking about me and wanted to make sure I was enjoying my day.”
I nodded. “That makes sense. He was part of our lives for a long time.”
“Yep.”
Swallowing, I forced my attention on the car in front of me. I felt my mother’s eyes on me. Seeing. Knowing. Then I felt her hand pushing a strand of hair from my face.
I gripped the steering wheel. “Is he alright?” I asked. Honestly, I didn’t even care if he was. My cut-off game was strong. Second chances weren’t my thing, especially in romantic relationships. And my life was in post-Rick mode.
“He sounded good,” she replied. “Told me he wanted to call you.”
“I hope you told him not to.”
“Rissa, I don’t like seeing you like this, holding on to so much anger.”
Like her?I loved my mother, but she’d made bitterness a sport in the immediate years following the divorce. If my father was a guest analyst onSportsCenter, she would turn it off. Years of marriage had ensured she never had to work again, but she resented him for stealing her pretty years.
In a lot of ways, I was her. Minus the bitter part. I didn’t hate Rick. I was just done. “I’m not angry, Mom.”
“You seem like it.”
I swallowed past a lump in my throat. “I’m sleeping with Asa,” I blurted out.
Silence stretched between us and I chided myself for not giving a fuck about the potential consequences of telling my mom my secret.
“Say something,” I urged.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Anything.”
“Are you in love with him?”
I considered the question. I cared for him deeply, for sure. During a weak moment, I even thought I might love him. “I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. Because I didn’t.
“How long has this been going on?”
“A couple years.” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her watching me incredulously. “It started at Duke’s wedding.”
