Page 64 of Bleeding Heart
“Excuse me?” I balk at her flippant remark.
Mom hasn’t mentioned his name all summer. I wish she hadn’t now. Every time I get Jake off my mind something reminds me of him and I have to start all over again.
“Jake can go make or have babies with whomever he wants, but it’s not gonna be me.” Annoyed, I chug the remaining water and open the cooler, grabbing a third cold bottle. Pressing it to my lips, I turn my head, pretending to look for Greer and Byron in the crowd.
My mother refutes my brash behavior and addresses my blunt avoidance of the elephant in the room,er, park?
“Paisley. Paisley, please. For as disappointing as not having grandchildren is for me, I agree it’s your choice. I’ve put myself in your shoes and I’m not second-guessing your decision. What I’m doing is asking how you intend to handle the conversation later. I don’t want you to have any regrets.”
“My regret is not doing this sooner.” If I had, I could have been honest with Gavin when we started dating that I was only interested in a committed relationship. He would have been free to make his choice when we began dating instead of me feeling pressured to conform to his future plans when we got engaged. “Also, Jake’s opinion is worth a hill of beans.”
“You’re still wearing the anklet he gave you.”
I twist my foot. The last flickers of sunlight strike the metal.
“I like the saying. Fierce.” I sound insulted that mom believes the jewelry has sentimental value.
It does. But keeping the anklet on has nothing to do with Jake.
Each time I read those six letters, it made fake dating him easier. Each time he fought me, expecting I’d back down, it gave me strength. Each time I held my head high, and did something I didn’t necessarily want to do, being fierce made it worthwhile. And being bold enough to survive when Jake up and left, cutting me with his words, allowed me to take back some of the power I felt he stripped me of. Wearing this anklet is not about Jake. It’s about me.
Her voice grows low with concern. “You’ll have to take it off for surgery.”
The links break when I grab it by the chain and yank. I open mom’s palm, placing it in the center to prove my point. Nothing I’ll ever do again is about Jake Ballentine.
“There’s nothing wrong with mourning a loss.” Mom rubs her thumb over the words and arrow, then tucks the anklet into her handbag. “Your emotions are valid.”
“Jake’s not dead, Mom.” That’s what makes it harder. He’s out there somewhere, carefree. Jake had no misgivings about running out on me. The Norse god had such little remorse over breaking my store window that he lied, leading me to believe the destruction was penance for my actions.
“I was angry when your father’s heart began to fail,” Mom confesses. “We endured so many doctor’s appointments for you. Surgeries. Hospital stays. Our suffering was supposed to have been over. My suffering, watching the agony of someone I loved in pain and being helpless to fix it.
“I hadn’t considered myself a martyr when you were born with similar health problems to your fathers. His specialty was cardiology. I was the last woman who wanted a baby who could plead ignorance to congenital defects. I understood the responsibility was mine before we decided to have children. But, before you were born, I wore rose-colored glasses. I only thought about how the stress of a chronic illness may affect an imaginary baby. I didn’t have the ability to see how it would overwhelm a real child in real pain, or our marriage. You were so wanted, Paisley. But after asking you to be stronger than any little girl should, your dad and I agreed that we wouldn’t try again.”
My mother brushes an errant hair behind my ear.
“You’re right, Paisley. There are mothers who would do anything to have a baby. We took a chance, and along with it, took away your option to lead the healthy life you were worthy of. My choices were all about me. Yours get to be all about you. I understand why your dad supported the decision you made. And that’s why I have no problem with your choice to have your tubes tied.”
My vision goes blurry. “I miss him so much.” After listening to my mom, my soul can’t separate Jake and my father. I wanted to love both of them for so much longer than I got to. The intensity of this hurt is a feeling I’ve never experienced. “I don’t know what to do with my anger,” I admit.
“You feel it, sweetie, and then bit by bit you let it go.”
“How did you let go of the anger when dad died?”
Mom laughs. “I must have you fooled. I haven’t. I am still grieving. Except, the one thing I learned is that I’d taken care of you both for so long that it was time to take care of me. So do that. Care for you. Chase your passion. Build the future you want. But most importantly build thepresentthat you want. Life changes on a dime.”
________________
30
________________
“I don’t think it can get any hotter out there.” Holly walks into the boutique with her arms akimbo. She has on a trademark vintage dress with no sleeves, but her posture falls more in line with a scarecrow. “It’s eleven o’clock and my mascara is melting.”
“You’re gorgeous, glowing. The dewy look is in.” Kimber tells her, sitting up on the chaise near the dressing room. The unwavering support these women show one another is something I aspire to.
July was hot, but August has been downright relentless. It hasn’t rained in weeks, though stepping outside is a lot like swimming in a fish tank. The humidity clings, soaking your clothes to your skin.
Standing behind the register, I offer Holly a polite hello, and mention Greer has new scent cards on her display table. Since my customer base is women, I tend to stock perfume floral lotions, but Mind Your Own Beeswax has a panty-dropping men’s line of bergamot and sandalwoods. The beard oil’s smell alone is a potent enough elixir to make you want to hump a mountain man. Or at least find a man to slather it on and… Well, you know.