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She glanced at the Christmas tree, which was adorned with only the lights Becca had installed and the two ornaments they’d hung—one each. She couldn’t even get him to commit to decorating the tree—probably too domestic for him. Not enough emergency room blood and guts. Much too boring and long-term, seeing how she liked to leave up the tree until Epiphany.
She wasn’t going to force him to do anything he didn’t want to do. If he couldn’t come to this relationship table willingly, she sure as shoot fire was not going to beg him.
After the Thanksgiving incident with her mother, whom she still hadn’t heard from, and after Nick had gone all stoic and standoffish, Becca had realized she was done earning people’s love.
Done.
Finito.
It was a matter of self-preservation.
She took a moment to gather her thoughts as she slowly made her way to the door. She flipped on the porch light—only so she could get a clear look out the peephole.
One could never be too cautious.
Ha! She should’ve thought of that before she let herself fall for a guy who had no desire to settle down with a wife and children. With a guy who withdrew to inner Siberia every time life got a little messy.
Well, you know what, Nick? Life is messy. It can be messy and ugly and unpredictable. People had accidents, and when they survived you were supposed to love them and count your blessings. You weren’t supposed to retreat and push them away.
But if he wanted to back away, that was fine. She wasn’t going to chase him and try to convince him that he needed her, that she was worth loving. All her life she’d been the good girl, and all it had gotten her was the expectation that her sole purpose in this life was to please other people.
She was prepared to say those words to him. In fact, she hoped he’d come by so she could tell him everything she’d been thinking since he’d so unceremoniously dropped her off at home after the accident.
However, when she looked out the peephole, it wasn’t Nick. It was her mother and Rosanna.
The disappointment that it wasn’t Nick was nearly crushing. Becca hated herself for it. She breathed through the sting and hit the mental save button on the memo to Nick in her brain.
That’s what it was. It wasn’t that she wanted to see him so much as she’d wanted the chance to tell him exactly what was on her mind.
Her mother knocked again, or at least Becca assumed it was her mother, because she’d been the one closer to the door. Rosanna had been standing a safe distance behind her.
“Rebecca, are you in there?” her mother called. “Please, open the door.”
Please?
Had Isabel Flannigan actually ended a sentence with the word please?
That was a good sign. Or at least Becca hoped it was a good sign. She’d been through so much today with the accident and Nick going emotionally AWOL, she simply didn’t have the energy to go to battle with her mother.
Isabel started pounding again, and Becca jerked open the door, bracing herself for her mother to unleash a tirade about how it was cold outside and Becca had left her standing there. Instead, Isabel threw her arms around her daughter and started sobbing.
“Mom.”
“Rebecca, I heard you were in an accident. Why on earth didn’t you call me?”
This was weird for three reasons—probably even more, but right now Becca was too taken aback to count—1) she and her mother hadn’t spoken since Thanksgiving; 2) Isabel never made the first move toward reconciliation; and 3) her mother considered any physical displays of affection vulgar.
Yet here she was, practically squeezing the stuffing out of her.
“Are you okay, Rebecca? Colleen Carlton’s daughter works at Southwestern Medical Center, and Colleen called me to ask if you were okay. Of course, I had no idea that you’d even been in an accident. I didn’t know what to say. She had to fill me in based on what her daughter had told her.”
Oh. Okay. Here we go.
Still caught in her mother’s embrace, Becca exchanged a look with her sister. To her surprise, it was more concern than the usual disdain.
“But that doesn’t matter. You’re here, and you’re okay.” Isabel pulled back, still holding Becca at arm’s length, and assessed her daughter.
The sight of her mother standing there with tears streaming down her face, holding on to her as if she were afraid she’d float out into the ether if she let go, liquefied the hard stance Becca had been prepared to take with her mother.
“Mom, I’m fine. Please, don’t cry.”
