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He stroked my hair with one hand and picked up the remote with the other.
Tears filled my eyes when the movie started. Nostalgia and affection for Marco swelled.
The Last Unicorn.
“You remembered,” I murmured.
“Of course I did. Now hush, and watch the movie.”
He continued stroking my hair, his fingers playing through the silken strands in a hypnotic rhythm. As I sank into relaxation, he rubbed my scalp and my nape in a light massage. I melted against him, humming in contentment as the familiar story played out on the screen.
By the time the credits rolled, I felt even lighter than I had after lunch. I’d thought my dynamic with Marco was complicated, but being with him like this was so simple. Easy. I didn’t have to stress or make any hard decisions. I didn’t have to worry about my responsibilities or what anyone expected of me.
All that mattered was what Marco expected of me, and that was to be good for him and let him take care of me.
I rolled onto my back and looked up at him. He practically radiated contentment, and he continued stroking me.
“Why am I like this?” I asked him. “I mean, I like what we’re doing. But it’s not normal, is it?” I wasn’t concerned about it anymore. I was curious.
“Does it matter if it’s normal? Does it matter what other people think, if this makes both of us happy?”
“I guess not. I still don’t understand, though.”
His hand stilled in my hair for a moment. “Tell me about your relationship with your parents.”
I flinched; the question punctured my happy little bubble.
He resumed petting me. “We don’t have to talk about this now, but if you want to understand, it would help if I knew more about your upbringing.”
“There’s not much to talk about,” I hedged.
A small frown tugged at his lips. “Don’t hide from me,” he warned. “I know your father never responded to your email about taking time off from college. I know you didn’t message your mother at all. Are you estranged from your parents?”
I tried to turn my face away, but his fingers tightened in my hair, trapping me beneath his incisive gaze.
“My dad loves me.” Even I could hear how defensive I sounded. “He just has high expectations. He wants me to succeed.”
“He puts a lot of pressure on you,” Marco read the truth in my words. “You’re obviously intelligent and hardworking. You wouldn’t have been accepted at Harvard, otherwise. Does your father tell you he’s proud of you?”
“No,” I whispered. “Not really.” It was expected that I would work hard and do well, so there was no need for positive reinforcement when I succeeded. There was only a need for censure when I failed.
“And what about your mother?”
“We don’t really talk.”
“Why not?” he pressed, not willing to let me stop there.
My eyes stung. “Well, my parents divorced when I was eight. My mother moved to Chicago for her career, and she decided it was best for me to stay with Dad. She works crazy hours.” A lump formed in my throat, but I continued. “Then, she met someone new. She got remarried and started a new family in Chicago. She forgot about me in Savannah.”
All I’d wanted for as long as I could remember was to have a family of my own. I dreamed about getting married and having babies. I longed to have people in my life I could love unconditionally. People who would love me in return.
I didn’t dare voice that dream aloud to my father or my friends. It was expected that I would go to a prestigious college and get more than my MRS. Degree. My father would be appalled if he knew that I wanted to meet a man who would start a family with me.
Marco brushed a tear from my cheek. “You want someone to take care of you. Someone who’s proud of you for who you are, not what they want you to be. And that’s okay.”
“Is it?” I asked desperately. “I’ve lived my whole life trying to impress
my dad. He’d be so ashamed if he knew all I really want is to get married and have babies. All I want is to stay at home and raise my children.”
