Page 142 of The Love Operation

Then I tell her about Benedict showing up at my clinic with his father.

Her smile falters, not because she doesn’t like Benedict, but because she remembers. She knows how I felt about him. She knows how much it shattered me when he ended things.

Her nostrils flare, and her eyes go glassy when I tell her about Benedict showing up for me, reminding me of who he is and why I loved him in the first place.

“Do you still love him?” she asks, and I’m grateful that she’s direct.

“I want to pretend I don’t,” I say. “But if I’m honest . . . I do. I always have. But I don’t want what I remember having with him to keep me from the really good thing I’ve just started with Isaac. Because I can’t even trust those memories, you know? I still don’t quite understand what’s between us and what was between us. That’s something I’ve got to figure out.”

And then I tell her about the memory study.

I don’t hold back. I tell her not just about the incredible experience, but how I violated my agreement with Delenn. How I used the tech for personal reasons, even though that was explicitly outside the protocol.

“Cordelia, don’t be so hard on yourself,” she says gently. “Having that ability would tempt anyone. Maybe it wasn’t what you should’ve done, but I can understand why you did it.”

“Did you know that we change our memories?” I ask.

She stares at me for several seconds, an odd expression on her face. “Memories are funny things, unpredictable, for sure.” She leans back in her chair, serene and effortless in her body.

My chest expands and contracts with the deep appreciation and awe I have for this woman, my role model and confidant. I love every member of my family, but my mother has always held a distinct place in my heart. I wouldn’t say I love her more, but I love her differently. What she says shapes me. What she does, I want to do.

I’ve carved my own path in this world, stood on my own, found my footing—but it was her path that led to mine. Her example has always been the pattern I measure myself against. This has always been a source of pride for her and me, in addition to that common ground connection. That’s something I never want to lose.

“Delenn is your best friend,” she says. “She’ll come around. Strong women with strong bonds find their way back to each other. They’re wise enough to know they’re stronger together—and stronger than whatever’s trying to pull them apart. Just give her time.”

Her words give me a deep sense of comfort because I know she’s right. For me and Delenn, for me and her.

Then I tell her about the newest fallout: my surgical faux pas and rumors about Isaac. “It’s like I’ve dropped all the balls I was juggling.”

I watch her face shift through disbelief, regret, anger, restraint. She understands the implications and knows what this could mean for me.

“I think I’ve ruined my chances at chief.” I hear my voice breaking, and I hate it. “How am I supposed to be present in a relationship when my career feels like it’s slipping through my fingers?”

A robin lands on the top of a gnome’s cap and observes me. I keep my eyes trained on its pearlescent black ones as I continue. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Maybe you’re trying to do too many things at once.”

I bristle, heat rising behind my ribs. “Don’t tell me that, Mom. You did it all. You expected me to do the same.”

She looks down at her lap. “I wanted a career, yes, but I also wanted a family. Perhaps you didn’t notice, but I sacrificed things at work so I could have that life. Like it or not, your life changes when you open your heart to more than one thing. And . . . at times, I’ve valued the wrong things in life. I think I put too much pressure on you. I loved that you followed in my footsteps, but you’re running yourself ragged. And nothing is worth that. Not even chief.”

I shake my head, feeling panicky at the thought of not getting this position. “I think I’ve just handled it poorly. If I’d waited with Isaac. If I’d—”

She shakes her head, looking at me like I’ve missed the point entirely. “You can’t operate on what you did or didn’t do. We learn from the past, but we can’t undo it. Now your job is to deal with the cards in your hand. But sweetheart, maybe it’s time to ask yourself why you’re holding so many cards. And who you’re holding them for.”

“You know why I’m holding them,” I say, rubbing damp palms against my jeans. “I’m trying to build something bigger than myself. Shift culture. Create space where there wasn’t space before. You of all people know that this isn’t just about ambition—it’s about legacy. Things you taught me to value. Things that require hard work.”

“I still believe in all those things, but none of it is worth losing yourself in the process. It’s okay to slow down a little. Life is about progress, yes, but it’s also about balance.”

She takes my hand, her thumb tracing soft circles like she used to when I was sick. Those circles against my skin had always served to close the gap between not okay and okay. But today, the swirls feel like stagnation, and I have the urge to pull my hand away.

A hummingbird buzzes in toward the colorful glass feeder, wings ablur. It drinks in bursts, hovering frenetically, never resting.

“You’re like that,” she says, tipping her head toward the bird with its grayish-tan body set off by a collar of brilliant red iridescence. It’s like she arranged the bird’s arrival just to make a point. “Always in motion. Always pushing forward.”

All I can think is: That’s what makes a hummingbird a hummingbird, the fact that it’s constantly in motion.

“It would be just like any other bird if it slowed down,” I say.