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“No, she’s been wanting to spend the night with Vicki ever since spring break started. Since I was going out with Jim, tonight seemed the perfect opportunity.”
“Vicki? The Smith girl? Really, Bridget, she could do better—”
“Mother!” Bridget pressed a hand to her forehead, rubbing at the throbbing pain of tension. “molly is my daughter and Vicki’s a perfectly nice kid. As far as I’m concerned, she can pick her friends.”
“But—”
“You can’t control her the way you controlled me!”
Her mother stared at her for a silent moment, a hurt look in her brown eyes. “Why in heaven’s name would you bring that up?”
“I don’t know.” Bridget shrugged impatiently. Her hand was shaking as she reached to adjust the tulips in the vase. She felt a familiar, hollow pain in her chest. “It doesn’t matter.”
Her mother turned back to the sink, rinsing the lettuce under the tap. “Your father and I were right to do what we did. After all—”
“But maybe I didn’t want you to be right.” Bridget fought back the emotions that gave her voice a telltale catch. “Maybe I loved him. Maybe that’s all I cared about. She ran her fingers through her hair. “Didn’t you ever think of that?”
“That’s all in the past, Bridget. You shouldn’t let it upset you anymore. You have Jim now and—”
“I don’t happen to love Jim,” she said quietly. “He’s very nice and we have fun sometimes, but that’s about all there is to it. So don’t go planning any wedding in the future. One was enough.”
“You surely can’t be feeling bitter about that,” her mother protested with a disbelieving frown.
“That’s enough. Please go home.” Bridget reached over and turned off the cold water. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but I would like you to leave before I lose my temper.”
“If that’s what you want—” Margaret Harrison’s chin elevated in stiff acceptance, wounded dignity in her proud smile. “Of course I’ll leave.”
She carefully dried her hands on a dishtowel near the sink and Bridget felt blindsided by emotional guilt.
“Damn it,” she sighed, “it’s not that I don’t understand. I know you love me, but I’m twenty-eight years old. I have my own home and my own family now. I have to live my own life and make my own mistakes. You can’t keep treating me like a child and trying to run my life.”
“I am not trying to run your life, but I can’t stop thinking of you as my daughter.”
“I’m not asking you to. And I will always be your daughter,” Bridget said patiently. “The only difference is that I’m an adult. Please give me some credit for having a little common sense and intelligence.”
“I do—I always have,” her mother insisted.
“Have you? Is that why ten years ago—”
“You were incredibly naïve then. And ridiculously romantic,” Margaret said sharply. “I think I proved once and for all that Jonas Concannon wasn’t the man for you. I don’t understand why you keep harping on the same subject.”
Bridget turned away. It was not something she could discuss with her mother. “I have to get dressed. Jim will be here in a few minutes.”
As she started toward the bedroom, her mother asked, “Where are the two of you going tonight? Didn’t you say something about seeing a movie in Montpelier?”
“That’s where we were going originally, but Jim called this afternoon to change it.” Her tone was neutral, but she could guess that her mother’s next question wouldn’t be.
“Then where are you going?”
Bridget stopped, her mouth opening in a silent laugh born of anger and disbelief. “Didn’t you hear a word I said earlier, Mother?” she asked. “I don’t have to account to you for my whereabouts.”
“Someone should know where you’ll be in case something happens to Molly. Is that too much to ask? We might need to reach you,” Margaret reasoned.
For once, her mother had made a halfway reasonable point, although Mrs. Smith would be taking care of Molly tonight and not the Harrisons. It was all the unreasonableness that made Bridget more stubborn than she needed to be. Which only made her seem childish in her mother’s eyes. She couldn’t win. Shaking her head, Bridget didn’t argue. Sometimes it was easier to give in than to fight for every scrap of her independence.
“Bob and Evelyn Tyler are having a party tonight. We’re going there,” she sighed. “Mrs. Smith knows where she can reach me.”
“The Tylers?” Her mother’s mouth curved in an expression of distaste. “Their parties are so rowdy.”
