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“She did?” she replied, cocking her head.
“Yes. Nick and I have been seeing each other for a little over two weeks now and I really like him, but I got the feeling she isn’t happy about it,” I replied.
“Probably not, dear,” she said, looking down at her book.
I took a moment to let that sink in, then said, “Why?”
“You might attend their parties and eat brunch at their country club once in a while, but you will never fit in with them,” she said, turning in her seat.
“What?” I gasped. “Why not?”
“High society, sweetheart,” she sighed. “We are not quite— their level.” She inhaled deeply, looking up at me again.
“Nick doesn’t strike me as—”
My mother interrupted, “Don’t underestimate the power of money and status.” Her brow arched as she hung her legs over the side of the sofa. Her lips thinned and she cupped her hand over mine firmly. I stared at her confused.
“I refuse to believe Nick to be that shallow. Mason, yes. I truly believe Mason would choose money over me, but Nick?” My eyes went from shocked to sorrow-filled. Nick and I had just begun something that I felt was meaningful. The last time I felt this from a man was when Matt was alive. No way was I going to believe for one second that Matt would be the last man to make me feel this way. “Nick treats me good, Mom. I don’t want to lose that, not for anyone.” Tears welled in my eyes.
Again she inhaled deeply, rubbing her palm over my knee, then began, “Before I met your father, Robert Porter was a man I was truly interested in.” She waited for my response, but I was too shocked to reply. “Then his family gave him a choice.” She shrugged and her eyes filled with sadness. “You understand how it goes?” she asked.
“I—I never thought . . . She volunteers, she helps old people and sick kids—” I stammered.
“She could save the world, sweetheart. It won’t change how power and wealth dictate what we do,” she replied matter-offactly.
“So . . . I have already lost Nick before I even had him?” Tears trickled from my eyes. “I—I’ll be in my room,” I said getting up and leaving the room.
Shutting the door to my room, I suddenly realized that coming back to Portland was a mistake. My heart has been crushed more times since returning than the three years I spent away with Matt. I crawled on top of my comforter and curled up in my pillow. What was I thinking coming home? This wasn’t the life I wanted. Eventually I cried myself to sleep.
There was a light rap at my bedroom door a while later, and when I turned over, my mother was standing in the open doorway.
“Someone is here to see you,” she said, stepping aside, to reveal Nick standing there. I sat up, wiping my cheeks.
My mother shut the door as she walked away.
“Hi,” he whispered, walking over to the bed. His smile was melting me inside.
“Hi,” I replied, my voice strained. I was nervous and afraid he was about to tell me that he couldn’t see me anymore. My heart raced as he stood there silently with his hands in his pockets, and his body swayed side to side. I closed my eyes and exhaled. “Tell me the bad news and get it over with.”
“Bad news?” he questioned. His brow furrowed. He sat next to me on the edge of the bed. I looked down at my hands as the tears betrayed me
“The part where your mother said she doesn’t want us to see each other anymore.” I wiped my cheek again with the sleeve of my shirt.
His hand slid over mine, and with a gentle squeeze, he replied.
“You’re amazing.” He kissed my head. “I told her that it wasn’t her place to decide whom I date.” He cupped my cheek, gently turning my head to face him. “I also told her that I care about you a great deal, and nothing will change that.” I bit down on my lip. His fingers brushed the hair from my face. His stare was so intense it made me want to cry.
“Really?” I choked back a sob.
“Yes.” He gave me a quick peck on the lips. I wrapped my arms around his neck and held him tight.
“Oh, thank God.” I sobbed happily.
“I won’t let my mother dictate my life. That is why I live in Washington with my father,” he said.
“I’m so happy to hear that.” I sighed, relieved.
Nick held me a little longer before springing something else on me. “I, uh—I have this invitation to the annual winter festival in two weeks,” he said, handing me a pretty ivory envelope with embossed blue lettering.
