Page 3 of Enemy Daddy Next Door
I guess I have been. Since saying goodbye to Gina, I haven’t really said much. I’ve been caught up in my head. “Long day.”
“Sure. I don’t know how you do those readings.”
“Just say the words on the page,” I say with a chuckle.
“I couldn’t do it. Reading aloud in front of people with the level of excitement and intensity you do. It’s a skill. You should be proud.”
I chew on my lower lip. I haven’t ever thought about it like that. “Thanks.”
“So, now that I’ve paid you with a compliment, what’s really on your mind?”
I laugh. “Is that how this works?”
“It’s like ‘penny for your thoughts’, but who needs pennies anymore?”
I lean my elbow on the arm rest, watching the street ahead of us unfurl as Fiona drives. “I didn’t realize how difficult it would be to talk about my mom.”
“I knew that’s what this was about.”
Then why’d you ask? “I still feel like I’m in a bit of a fog.”
“I can tell. Not in a bad way, just –”
“No, it’s good to know it’s obvious. Means I still have some work to do.”
Fiona is silent. The road rumbles beneath us. If she just dropped the subject, I’d be grateful. However, that’s not the kind of friend she is. And I’m grateful for that too.
I guess.
“When’s your next therapy session?”
“Tuesday.”
“How’s that been going?” she asks carefully.
I sigh. “Fine. That’s always been fine. It’s just…been a whole year since my mom came back and disappeared just as quick and…I’m still out of sorts about it.”
Fiona smiles. “A year is not a lot of time, Amy.”
I glance at my friend; she’s about a decade older than me and has lived a lot more life. She moved away from home young, traveled the world, got married and divorced, cut off all her hair, became a masseuse and then dropped it all to edit children’s books. That’s a lot of life. Me? I’ve lived at home for almost twenty-five years, A.K.A. my whole life, and I write children’s books. Sure, there’s adventure within that, but not a lot of life experience. “You’re right.”
“You have to give yourself some grace. What your mother did to you was horrible.”
I wince. Just because it’s true doesn’t mean it feels good to hear other people say it.
“And you’re allowed to let it feel that way, but…” Fiona pulls the car up in front of my house and puts it in park. “That doesn’t mean life on the whole has to be horrible too.”
I smile. “That’s good advice.”
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know about that, but –”
“It is. Thanks, Fiona.”
Fiona runs her hand through her bleached blonde pixie cut. “You’re welcome.”
I grab my purse. “Thanks for driving me today.”
“Of course, any time.” As I open the door and start to get out, Fiona calls out after me, “Remember we have a brainstorming meeting on Monday. Which means –”