“What about him?”
“I don’t know another woman in town who wouldn’t have fallen under Knox Morgan’s spell given the time and attention he gave you. I’ll also say this—I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. If he was faking those feelings, someone needs to get that man an Academy Award.”
“I’ve known him for a good, long time. And I’ve never known him to do anything he didn’t want to do, especially when it comes to women. If he willingly agreed to the guise of a relationship, he wanted it.”
“It was his idea,” I whispered. A spark of hope lit inside me. One I immediately extinguished.
A man doesn’t go all in with a woman, it’s for a reason.
“He had a shit time with his mom’s death and everything that came after,” she continued. “He didn’t have the happily ever after example you grew up with. Sometimes when you don’t know what’s possible, you can’t hope for it yourself.”
“Ms. Suarez.”
“I think at this point you can call me Yolanda.”
“Yolanda, we’re practically the same age. How do you have all of this wisdom?”
“I’ve been married twice and have four kids. My parents have been married for fifty years. My husband’s parents have been divorced and remarried so many times neither of us can keep count. If there’s one thing I understand, it’s love and how damn messy it can be.”
“Hi, sweetie. How was lunch?” My mom was dressed in a dirt-streaked t-shirt and sun hat. She had a glass of iced tea in one hand and a gardening glove on the other.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, trying to keep my eyes averted as I headed for the front porch. Amanda Witt had a keen sense of when something was wrong with someone, and this was not a conversation I felt like having. “Where’s Way?”
“Your father took her to the mall. What’s wrong? What happened? Did someone choke on a breadstick at lunch?”
I shook my head, not trusting my voice.
“Did something happen with Knox?” she asked softer now.
I tried to swallow around the lump in my throat, but I was choking on unshed tears.
“Okay. Let’s go sit down,” she said, guiding me down the hall to the bedroom she was sharing with my father.
It was a bright, pretty room done in creams and grays. There was a large four-poster bed and windows that overlooked the backyard and creek. A vase of fresh flowers sat on a table tucked between two armchairs that occupied the space in front of the windows.
“I’ll just spread this out,” Mom said, draping my father’s ratty bathrobe over one of the armchairs. She hated the robe and had tried six ways to Sunday over the years to get rid of it. But Dad always found a way to resurrect it.
She plopped down on the robe-covered chair and patted the one next to her. “Sit. Talk.”
I shook my head even as I sat. “Mom, I’m really not in the mood to talk right now.”
“Well, tough shit, sweetie.”
“Mom!”
She shrugged. “I’ve let you get away with this ‘don’t be a burden’ routine for far too long. It was easier for me to rely on you to always behave. To always be the easy daughter. And that’s not fair to you.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, dear, sweet, heart-of-gold daughter of mine: Stop trying to be so damn perfect.”
I wasn’t sure if I was prepared to have this conversation any more than the Knox conversation.
“You’ve lived your whole life trying to make up for your sister. Trying to never burden anyone, never ask for anything you needed, never disappoint.”
“I feel like that’s something a parent wouldn’t want to complain about,” I said defensively.
“Naomi, I never wanted you to be perfect. I just wanted you to be happy.”
“I’m…happy,” I lied.
“Your father and I did everything we could to help Tina be happy and healthy. But it wasn’t her path. And it took years, but we finally understood that it wasn’t our path to turn her into someone she’s not. We did our best with your sister. But Tina’s choices are not a measure of our worth. It’s a tough lesson, but we got it. Now it’s your turn. You can’t live your entire life trying to make up for your sister’s mistakes.”
“I wouldn’t say that’s how I’ve lived my entire life,” I hedged.
Mom reached over and brushed her hand over my cheek. I felt the grit of dirt transfer to my skin. “Whoops! Sorry about that.” She licked her thumb and leaned in for the Mom polish.