She had a booth set up at the local Saturday market. So did Harold. Before the influx of traffic, Harold stopped at her booth and sampled some of her food. They kept in touch after that day. Harold initially said it was for business, but later told Mom he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Their story of finding love again melts my heart. Mom dealt with major depression after losing Dad. It is one thing to grow apart in a relationship. But when the person you love dies in a tragic, fatal accident, there is no easy way to overcome the pain. Harold helped steer Mom from the darkness. For that, I am eternally in debt to him.
“Hey, guys.” Speak of the man. “Sorry I didn’t come out sooner. Was finishing up with a new client.”
If he can print it, Harold does it. Business cards, fliers, bookmarks, car wraps, trinkets, and more. Harold started his business decades ago. Once a one-man operation, Designs of the Times has boomed over the last five years. Partly because Harold had nothing but time when he and his ex-wife separated. But also because Mom encouraged and supported him wholeheartedly.
“No worries. We were just catching up with Mom,” I tell him.
Trina and her girlfriend, Sierra, walk in. No hello or how’s it going or even eye contact. None of us dislike each other, but Trina isn’t fond of her father remarrying. She and Mom get on fine. But Trina loves her own mother and has admitted as much to her father when she thought no one else was listening. Not that she wasn’t especially quiet about it.
So, Trina tolerates me and Mom. Her problem, not mine.
After everyone fills their plates, idle chitchat circulates the table. Harold tells us about the new client he and Trina just acquired. Yes, Trina works with her father. It isn’t odd they work together, but it surprises me she doesn’t want more distance from her parent.
Reese mentions the influx of people at the restaurant and rec center. Mom blathers on about her upcoming week and the next wedding she will cater. Reese immediately jumps in and asks to attend and Mom shakes her head with a laugh.
Then the table goes silent. Too silent.
I glance up from my fork and knife, ready to bring the bite of chicken to my lips, but stop when I notice all eyes are on me.
“What?”
Mom gives a small smile. “I asked what was new with you. Anyone new in your life?”
Oh, lord. Here we go.
Since Mom and Harold fell in love, she has been adamant about finding someone for me. I love my mother’s natural determination and desire for me to have the best in life. But her meddling in my love life is not something I want to deal with.
I spear the chicken harder than necessary and shove it between my lips. Chewing the bite until it turns soupy won’t take long, but at least it gives me a moment to mentally prepare. Because this conversation won’t finish with my answer.
“No, Mom.”
She sips her wine, then sticks out her lower lip. “Aw, Peyton.” I hate when she does that. Makes it sound like my choice to be alone is horrible. “Sweetheart, I know things ended on a sad note with James, but don’t let that darken your heart.”
James. My last boyfriend. The first guy I had truly loved since Chad—my first everything. James said he would always be there for me, through thick and thin. But when Nana passed, and I mourned, he didn’t know how to be there for me during the darker days. Said he didn’t know how to make me smile or love me anymore. He went to two joint therapy sessions with me, but couldn’t seem to grasp why I didn’t easily snap out of my sadness.
Bless his heart for trying, but we drifted apart after a year and a half together. Deep down, we still had love for each other. We just weren’t meant to be more than what we had.
And we were okay with that. Although we broke up two years ago, we still catch up from time to time. His current girlfriend understands our friendship and has zero jealousy when we talk. She is a true woman.
“Mom, James and I are still friends. Nothing about us darkens me or my heart.”
“I just hate to see you so alone.”
Why won’t she let this go? I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but the continual conversations about relationships make me feel as if she thinks life isn’t worthy if you don’t have someone at your side.
I take a deep breath and prepare for the calm storm that is Tracy Williamson.
“What if I want to be alone? Have you considered that?”
“Why would you want to be alone?” Her voice shakes slightly.
I stab at the lettuce and cucumber in my bowl. I don’t want to fight, not with Mom. But she needs to understand that not every person needs another person to have happiness. It is possible to be happy and be single.
“Mom, there’s nothing wrong with being single. I come and go as I please. I don’t have to worry about upsetting someone if I don’t come home immediately from work. I get time to feel comfortable in my own skin, without the pressure of pleasing someone else. The list goes on and on.” She goes to speak and I hold up a hand to cut her off. “And before you say something like what about love… Mom, I’ve had love. Twice. One I lost and can never get back. And the other, well, it morphed into a different love. I have come to terms with both of those. But for now, I want time for me. If I get lucky enough to find love again, I will accept it with grace. I won’t go hunting for it, though. When it’s meant to be…”
“I just feel like you’re missing out,” Mom mumbles to her plate.
Mom is the second person to indicate as much to me today. Although Ms. Jenkins didn’t necessarily mean love, she thought I was missing out on life by hanging out with elderly folks.
Everyone at the table falls silent. Not that Trina or Sierra have said much anyway. I didn’t raise my voice at Mom, but this is the first time I have really laid it all out in front of others. Reese knows how I feel. He teases me about dating every once in a while, but he gets that I’m enjoying me time. Mom, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to get why I want independence. Maybe because she loved belonging to someone. It made her whole.
But I want the ability to feel whole without someone. Once I achieve that, being with another person is a bonus.
The rest of dinner goes by with quieter, blander conversation. After we help Mom clean up, Reese and I exchange hugs with Mom and Harold and say our goodbyes.
Back at home, Reese and I change into comfy clothes and he tells me to grab my Caboodles box of nail polish. The very same Caboodles I have had since high school. Once upon a time, it held only black polish, black mascara, black eyeliner, and shades of black shadow. Now, a rainbow of polish rests inside. Nothing else.
Reese plops down on the sofa with two bottles of beer and chips. After he tears the bag open and pops the top from the beers, he grabs my feet and starts rubbing them.
“Did Mama T upset you tonight?”
I shake my head and moan as he massages the ball of my foot. “No. Just wish she’d let me live life how I want.”
“She means well.”
“Yeah, I know. Her persistence frustrates me, I guess. It’s like she doesn’t understand that women don’t have to be in a relationship to be happy.”
“True.” Reese switches to my other foot. “But all she knows is her own experiences. It’s hard to speak of what you don’t know or understand.”
“I get that.” Grabbing my bottle from the table, I take a sip. “But after countless conversations, you’d think she’d understand my stance on the matter. I love that she wants me to be happy. But she doesn’t get that romantic relationships don’t always equal happiness.”
Reese grabs his beer from the table and extends it toward mine to clink necks. “Cheers to that.” We both drink, then set our bottles down. “So… you went out with Micah the other night.”
“Not now.”
When I agreed to eat at Teddy’s with Micah, I texted Reese. All I got in return was a slew of emojis and obnoxious GIFs.
“Fine. But we will talk about it. I don’t care what does or doesn’t come of it, we will discuss Micah Reed.”
“Fine,” I agree with a huff. “For now, will you just paint my toenails.”
“Only if you do mine.” Reese drops his feet in my lap and wiggles his toes. “I’m feeling the sky blue.” I grab said blue from the Caboodles along with the bottle for my toes. I toss it at Reese and he looks at the color. “Really?”
“Yep.”
“You got it.”
For the next hour, we decorate each other’s toes. Reese’s in a bright baby blue. Mine in a rich, bold red. The color I reserve for when I want something. Thing is, I don’t exactly know what I want. Mom’s and Ms. Jenkins’s words continue to ring through my head.
Is it true? Am I missing out?