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“What?” I scoff. “Mom, I’mmarriedto the man. Marriage has consequences. This is serious.”
“Well, marriage also has benefits,” she tells me. “And, no, I’m not just talking about the sex-on-demand. I’m talking about love, companionship, someone to share your secrets with. You deserve that, too, Nadi. Just as much as you deserve the successful career and professional respect. You deserve love. A safe place. A soft place to fall. Trust me. I would know.”
Deep down, I want to argue, but I force myself to mull over my mother’s words. I’m not sure I deserve anything. I definitely didn’t grow up with an entitled bone. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want those things that my mom is dangling in front of me.
“What is this shit?!” I toss my head back and groan up at the ceiling. “I didnotsign up to be feeling these feelings.”
Mom speaks kindly. “I know, I know, honey. I know exactly what it’s like to feel the way you do. You’re a strong, tough, independent woman. And you wake up every day and put on your serious, serious power suit to take on the world and achieve the unachievable.” She sighs. “But hear me when I say this—there will come a moment when you get tired of having to be strong all the time. When you’ll just want someone who can peel back your many layers, and see the terrified, trembling woman beneath…and love you anyway.”
My eyes start to burn.Tears? Are you serious?Tears are very inconvenient and unwelcome at the moment. I’m already frazzled enough as it is.
But the tears are coming, even though I don’t want them to. Because I hate how much Mom’s words resonate with the internal conflict I’m going through.
In the years when Mom and Dad were divorced, my mother poured herself into her career, focusing all her energy into becoming the biggest name in real estate around our town. In fact, watching the way she carried herself in the business world was the main inspiration for the career-driven woman I eventually grew into. But what I only realized much later on is that all those years, beneath her tapered business suits and her professional veneer, she’d been lonely the whole time. When she and my father reunited, a part of her that had been long buried came back to life.
I silently wonder if I have that gene. If it’s buried somewhere inside of me, too. Because the more Harry Westbrook comes around, the more I feel something foreign digging its way up to the surface from the very core of me.
Mom continues softly. “Do you think that Harry is that someone? Can he love you ferociously when you’re at the top of your game? And love you with even more fervor when you feel like you aren’t living up to your best? I don’t want to scare you but I have to be honest. If he’s that kind of man, you’ll eventually regret letting him go.”
Remaining quiet for a moment, I blot my tears with a tissue. And now, I’ll need to do my eye makeup all over again. “Why's it so terrifying to finally get so close to having everything I've ever wanted?” I ask with a sigh. “Just thinking of the possibility of being with Harry scares me shitless.”
“Because there is an insecure bitch in your head telling you that you don't deserve it. You gonna let that bitch win?” Mom asks with defiance.
“It’s not insecurity if it’s true. I've had so many misses in love. I can't open my heart up again. I just can't. It hurts too much.” I feel prickling at the backs of my eyes as I clean up my mascara mess with some makeup remover.
“You’re letting your old heartbreak hold you hostage,” Mom says softly. “You’re trying to make this into a science when really, it’s an art. Love is an art. There are no rules. No by-laws and shareholder agreements. It’s messy. And feelings get splattered everywhere. But in the end, each brushstroke adds a layer of beauty to the painting.”
I groan, as I finish reapplying my mascara and line my lips with red lipstick, even though now I’d much rather curl up with a romcom and some ice cream than go deal with my problems head on.
“I shouldn’t have called you. Now I’m just even more confused,” I complain.
“You’re not confused,” Mom says wisely. “You just don’t like the answer your heart is giving you, that’s what it is.”
Fuck—I hate the possibility that she may be right.
My automated calendar prompt pops up, reminding me of my impending plans. I need to get a move on if I’m going to make it to the restaurant on time.
“Mom, I’ve got to go.” Rising to my feet, I turn off my emotions like a gas valve.
“Call me tomorrow. I want to hear how everything turns out.”
“Fine. I love you. Thanks for talking me through this tonight,” I say even if I’m not quite sure I feel any clearer than before I made the call.
“Of course, honey. I love you, too. And I know that you’re probably going to do whatever your head tells you to do, but promise me that you’ll at least listen to what your heart has to say before you pull the trigger.”
I don’t make any promises to my mother as we get off the phone. I’m not willing to leave myself open and let my heart run amuck with my life tonight.
I hustle around my bedroom and finish getting ready. I slip into a fitted dress I like with my favorite heels. I tell myself it’s because I never know when I’ll run into a business associate around town.Notbecause I want to look good for this date.
What a load of crap that is. I know it.
A part of me wants to look pretty for this man. A part of me wants to feel his eyes sweep over me with affection and appreciation for my beauty. The longer I stand here in front of this mirror acknowledging that weakness, the larger that needy part of me grows.
I have no business feeling the way I feel about you, Harry Westbrook.
When I’m finally ready to go meet Harry, I grab my stuff and head outside to my car. I falter immediately and stare in confusion when I find the man himself waiting in his own vehicle, right in my driveway.
Completely bewildered, I approach the driver’s side of Harry’s car with a heavy dose of caution. He watches quietly as I approach. The soft, vulnerable look on his face makes my heart throb.
