Page 57 of Deny Me
Twenty-Four
When I walkedinto the salon at the hotel, my mother greeted me with a big smile, telling me I looked like I was glowing. “I’m impressed, considering all you drank last night.”
Our conversation was interrupted when we went our separate ways to get massages and facials. When we sat down at a private table in the spa for lunch she finally brought up Jameson.
“So, how serious are you and Jameson?” she asked lightly.
“I mean, I’ve known him since I met Luella in college. We’ve all become very close over the years and formed our own little family traditions. You know I spend holidays with them when I can’t make it home.” I decided to keep my answers vague until I needed to go into more detail. Maybe she would keep things superficial and save me the lecture I felt coming.
“Hmm.” I held my breath, watching her chew her sandwich, glancing up at me as she thought of her reply. “You seem awfully friendly for someone you consider family.”
“Yeah.” That was all I had and I shoved a forkful of salad into my mouth to prevent myself from saying any more.
“Evelyn, what is going on? Is it just a fling? Is that what this is?”
“It’s not really a fling,” I muttered. “Things changed for us when we went to Lu’s wedding in Jamaica.”
“Jamaica!” she shouted before looking around at the other guests and lowering her voice. “That was almost two months ago. Is this a relationship?”
Rolling my shoulders back, I faced her head on. “You’ve taught me to never apologize for my lifestyle,” I reminded her. I tried to remember that, even while she bombarded me with disapproval. I was a twenty-nine-year-old woman and while we may have skipped the whole boyfriend situation in my teens, it didn’t give her the right to act like I was a teen in my first relationship now. “Yes. It’s a relationship. We’ve been good together. He treats me better than any other man I’ve ever been with. He respects me, and he respects my work. Is that so wrong that I want to be with a man like that?”
“Evelyn, you can have any man you want. It doesn’t mean you should keep them. Keeping them leads to falling in love, and falling in love leads to heartache.”
“It’s too late, Mom.” My lips fell to a pinched frown, because I knew she was going to be disappointed the most in my next words. “I love him.” I might not have been able to say it to him that morning, but that would change later. Because saying it eased some of the heaviness that sat on my chest. Saying it morphed my frown into a smile that lit up my whole face. “I love him.” I said it again just to hear the words aloud.
She looked at me with concern glistening in her eyes. Everything she had ever warned me not to do, I was telling her I’d done. She looked at me as though I’d told her I was diagnosed with cancer and she was about to lose her only child. But maybe me falling in love was the equivalent. She’d lost herself when she lost my father. After a long pause she finally opened her mouth to say something and I braced myself.
“Are you ladies ready for your pedicures?” the bubbly attendant asked, interrupting at the most perfect time.
I stared at my mom while she composed herself, not taking her glistening eyes off of me. The woman’s smile became a little bit more forced as the silence continued.
Deciding to save us all from the weird moment we seemed to be frozen in, I spoke first. “Yes, thank you. The lunch was delicious.”
“Great!” She clapped her hands, snapping my mom out of her daze.
I forced a reassuring smile at my mom before we turned and were led to two seats where bubbling water awaited us. It was easy to push everything aside when your feet were immersed in heaven and the ladies assigned to us were holding up the conversation.
“What brings you two beautiful ladies to the spa today?”
“It’s my daughter’s birthday this weekend, and I flew in from California to visit,” my mom answered, her tone more relaxed.
“Oh, California! I’ve never been there,” my mom’s pedicurist said. “How did you end up in Cincinnati from California?”
“I went to college here.”
“She’s a fashion designer,” my mom said with pride.
“Oh, girl. I love fashion. I bet that’s an amazing job,” the lady working my feet chimed in.
The conversation progressed about what kind of clothes they liked and who their favorite designers were. My mom kept looking over at me, smiling with pride. When one of the ladies recognized my work, making my mother’s chest puff up a little.
“Oh my god. I ordered one of your new designs off this website last week! I’m in love with the patterns you used. They’re so bold.” The woman looked up from putting the top coat on my toenails with wide eyes.
My mom leaned forward like she was sharing a secret with the woman at her feet. “She has an opportunity to go to Italy to work with a top designer. She’s very talented.” Sitting up tall in her seat, she turned to face me. “I’m so damn proud of her.”
But in the middle of that statement, my heart sank. At the mention of Italy, this morning flashed in my mind. The way Jameson’s arms held me tight as his head pressed to my breasts. The way his words, telling me I was the most talented artist he knew, made my chest swell to exploding. Or how he said he loved me made my body flood with heat with the need to say it back. It all surrounded me as my mom stared at me, thinking I was going to accept the position in Italy.
But fingering the charm he had gently placed around my neck this morning, I knew I was going to turn it down, and I didn’t know how I was going to admit that to my mom. But no matter what happened, I would be in Jameson’s arms later that night. We had pushed our lunch to dinner so I could see my mom off to the airport and not miss out. Despite the dread mixing in my stomach, I smiled, imagining his arms around me and his face when I told him I loved him.