“Yeah, Jess. I know.” Moving a couple of the bins from beside her, she patted the freed space. “Come keep me company. The girls get enough of me during the day, and your dad has been snoring for two hours now.”
I wanted to sit and talk with Mom . . . and I didn’t want to sit and talk with Mom. Experience had proven she could get to the bottom of what was troubling me in a short, innocent-seeming conversation. I wasn’t ready for her to work her magic yet. I wasn’t ready to speak openly about it; I still hadn’t let go of the hope that it would go away on its own.
However, at the end of the day, I could say no to my mom about as often as I could to Rowen. “What are you doing out here?” I asked, approaching the swing.
“Sorting through old pictures. I’ve gotten way behind on getting things labeled and into albums. Obviously,” she said, motioning at the bins filled to capacity with photos.
“Yeah, but why are you doing it out here? Inside’s a little warmer.” I was just unzipping my heavy Carhartt jacket when she shook her head.
“You keep that on, sweetie. Thank you, though. Besides, it’s nice being outside in the cool every now and then when you spend your days in a hot kitchen.” I settled into the swing beside her and lifted my brows. “Okay. I might be out here because I was waiting for you.”
“You almost had me convinced with the photo bins, Mom. Really.”
“Not quite, though?”
“Given none of them were open, that kind of gave you away.” I couldn’t tell how many deep conversations Mom and I’d gotten into when I thought she needed nothing more than help drying the dishes, or plucking green beans, or any one of the other everyday tasks she liked to use as a gateway to something big.
“I think I’m losing my touch.” She shook her head.
“So why were you waiting up for me?” I said, not wasting any time.
Mom reached back and grabbed something off of the table beside her. “I made your favorite dessert.” She held out the steaming piece of apple pie, and waited.
“Thanks, Mom.” I took the pie and rested the plate on my lap. On any other day, I would have been inhaling it and going in search of another piece in thirty seconds, but eating was the furthest thing from my mind. “Pie? This was the reason you were camped out on the porch waiting for me?”
She folded her hands in her lap and cleared her throat. “Well, there may have been one other reason I was waiting for you.”
“Go ahead, Mom. I promise I won’t go run off and hide out in my tree house like I did after you explained, in detail, the male and female reproductive organs.” I gave her a wry smile.
“You totally over-reacted.”
“Mom, you used a banana, a couple of limes, and a pomegranate.” Every teenage boy’s worst nightmare? Having his mom teach him the ins and outs of sex education.
“That was what the online home-schooling lesson plan suggested.”
“I was twelve.”
Mom lifted an eyebrow at me. “Are you trying to tell me twelve-year-old boys are impervious to sexual urges?”
I shifted on the swing. Eight years later and I was almost as uncomfortable as I’d first been when the words “penis” and “vagina” came out of my mom’s mouth. “You probably could have waited a few more years for the whole condom-over-the-banana demonstration. You know, just in case you and Dad are planning on raising any more sons.”
Mom scoffed at me. “I may wash dishes by hand and make my own piecrusts, but I’m not fool enough to be old-fashioned about some things. I’ve tried to be . . . practical . . . with raising all of my children, and I wasn’t eager to think of my baby raising one. Thus the banana and condom demonstration.”
I smiled into my lap. How many twenty-year-old guys had conversations like that with their mothers? Yeah, probably none but me. “Is that what you’re waiting to talk with me about? Fruit and prophylactics? Because I think I’ve got both areas covered now . . .”
Mom reached for her tea cup and saucer and took a couple of sips. “I couldn’t help hearing your phone call with Rowen a few nights ago.”
That’s where I figured the conversation would be heading. “Yeah?”
“Things sounds a little . . . strained, maybe?”
I set the pie down on the table beside me. With what we were talking about, I wouldn’t be up for eating anytime soon. “Yeah.”
“What’s going on?”
So damn much. “Just lots of things,” I answered with a shrug.
“The distance? Is being apart so much taking a toll?”
“That’s part of it. It’s not the main issue, though.” I clenched my phone. I’d held it twice as much as I’d held Rowen’s hand that year. “But being apart definitely makes it that much harder to work out the other things.”
“What other things?”
Part of what I loved about my mom was her ability to deliver a question so succinctly. She didn’t soften it or wrap it up in a bunch of fluff. Right then, though, I wouldn’t have minded her questions not being so direct.
“Things I’m not ready to talk about yet, Mom,” I admitted, dropping my gaze.
There was a good minute of silence before Mom draped her arm over my shoulders. “You love Rowen, and she loves you. Hold on to that, and work out the rest. Just don’t assume that these issues, whatever they are, will fix themselves or disappear on their own. Work them out. Don’t let them create a wedge between you two.”
“And what if you have no idea how to go about working them out?”
“Then get an idea. The answers don’t come easy, Jesse. God knows the questions sure do, but the answers never come easy. You have to work for them, and in my experience, you have to work hard for them.”
Having my mom’s arm around me still managed to soothe me, almost to the point of wanting to admit everything that had been bothering me. “I guess I should have known better than to assume that once I’d found the woman I wanted to spend my life with, everything else would just fall into place.”
Mom laughed softly, patting my shoulder. “Honey, if it was easy, they wouldn’t call it love.”
“Yeah. I’m figuring that out.”
Setting down her tea, she twisted toward me. “What about you, Jess? How have you been?”
I swallowed. That topic was even more touchy than the last one. That topic was one that scared the shit out of me. I kept my eyes forward when I answered. “Okay. Why?”
“You’ve just seemed a little . . . in your head, you know?”
Mom had nailed it. I’d been so in my head I was close to driving myself crazy. I knew exactly what she was asking—is your past back to haunt you?—and I know exactly how I wanted to answer—yes, please help me beat this—but the words wouldn’t form. I simply couldn’t admit all that I was struggling with: the ghosts of my past, my fears of one day not being enough for Rowen—would she outgrow me?—my growing fears of Jax and his motives for being in her life . . . insecurity after insecurity, fear after fear. The obstacles were so thick around me, I hadn’t been able to move—to breathe—in weeks. Nothing came easy anymore. Everything was a struggle.
“I’ll be okay, Mom.” I sounded more convincing than I felt.
“I know you will, Jesse. You’re one of the strongest people I know. I’m just worried about everything you might lose before you get back to being okay.”
I stood up. I couldn’t talk about any of it anymore. It was too much, too fast. “I’ve got this, Mom. It’s going to be all right.”
“Don’t let the things you think you need to do keep you from doing the things you actually need to. Okay? Fight for the things that matter—don’t waste your energy on the rest.”
I nodded and headed for the front door. “Thanks for the pie. I’ll have to have a piece for breakfast.”
“Jesse?” Mom said. I paused with my hand on the door. “You know I’m here whenever you need to talk, right?”
I was suddenly so exhausted, I could have collapsed right there. The day, the week, and the whole
month had suddenly caught up to me, and the weight of it all was almost too much to bear. I needed to crawl into bed and sleep for five days straight . . . and then I remembered all that was waiting for me when I did fall asleep. I wanted to chug coffee to keep away from those dark places. “And you know that when I’m ready to talk, I will.”
SOME PEOPLE JUST seemed to come into my life exactly when I needed them. It’s like the universe’s way of handing me a solution to a problem in the form of a person. Like a homeless, slightly deranged woman who talks a little too much like one of those fire and brimstone TV evangelists.
So maybe my “solution” from the universe wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders, but Mar said a lot of things I needed to hear, just when I needed to hear them. She was like a homeless, American Buddha. We’d had so many late-night alley conversations that I’d started inviting her inside Mojo during business hours so we could share my lunch and chat. As far as atmosphere went, Mojo left a lot to be desired, but it was a hell of a lot better than a sitting in a dirty alley next to a putrid dumpster.
“And you’ve been with this boy for almost a year now?” Mar asked, waving half of my peanut butter sandwich at me.
“Yep. Pretty close.” I thanked Alex for filling our coffee cups by giving her a chunk of my Kit-Kat. Sid was not a big fan of me inviting a vagrant into his doughnut shop to “shoot the shit,” but after a little convincing from Alex, he’d turned a blind eye. Besides, half of his customers, including Sid, dressed like they’d dived their fair share of dumpsters. He couldn’t really turn his nose up at the real deal or else I was calling bullshit.
“You’re serious about this boy?” Mar asked.
I nodded and crunched into a carrot stick. I generally tried to keep my relationship with Jesse off the table with Mar. Not because I was ashamed or uncomfortable talking about Jesse and our relationship, but because I was afraid of what she’d say. She had a kernel of wisdom for every bloody topic in the universe, significant others especially. If the conversation even started veering toward love, marriage, and everything in between, oh, brother. I knew to sit back and strap in because Mar could have filled an encyclopedia by the time she’d stopped talking.
“How serious serious?” Mar shoved the rest of the sandwich in her mouth and moved on to the bag of chips.
“Serious enough I can’t imagine being with anybody else. Serious enough I can’t imagine spending my life without him.” I set my carrot stick aside and slumped into the booth. Talking about Jesse, even thinking about him, had been putting me into a sad, depressed mood for a while. I knew what the gloominess stemmed from—not getting to see him and missing him like mad—but sad and depressed weren’t exactly feelings I wanted to have when I thought of my boyfriend.
“You mean to tell me you’re actually considering marrying this country boy one day?” Mar froze in the middle of opening the chips.
“Well . . . yeah.”
“Oh, Girlie. You are not nearly as smart as I thought you were,” Mar said, whipping her head from side to side. “Nope. Not even close.”
At first, her unexpected insults had almost hurt my feelings. Now, they pretty much ran off my back since I’d heard a dozen different ones each time we talked. “And why does wanting to marry some amazing guy make me the dumbest person on the planet?”
“I don’t care how amazing this boy is. I don’t care how many gold stars he’s earned. You can’t expect someone like you to be happy settling down with one man.” Mar was wagging her finger at me. Her head started bobbing too, almost like a nervous tic. It only got that way when she was getting worked up about something.
“Who is someone like me exactly?” I felt like I had a general understanding, and what I knew of myself didn’t clash with the concept of spending my life with Jesse. Apparently Mar saw me in a different light. I was curious to know what she saw.
“An artist. A woman who needs to stay inspired. A creative person who needs to create to stay fulfilled.”
“And why does being with Jesse make none of these things possible?” I asked, taking a sip of coffee.
“You need someone to keep you inspired. You need a muse. No muse, no art.” Mar crunched into a chip, her head bobbing.
“Jesse is my muse. He keeps me inspired.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m sure he was. At first. The beginning of every relationship is the best we can ever expect out of one. It never gets any better than that first year. After that, it’s a slow, downward spiral.”
“Thanks for the uplifting words,” I mumbled.
“Prove me wrong,” she said, shaking her finger at me. “I bet some of the best art you’ve created was when you and your boyfriend were first together. Some true masterpieces came out of that early stage of your relationship.” Mar paused, letting that set in. “Am I right?”
I thought about it and, as much as I didn’t want to agree with her and her crazy theory, I nodded.
“And what about now? Compare what you were creating six months ago to what you’re creating today. How does it compare?”
Okay, I really wanted off her crazy train before it went any farther down the loony tracks. I might have thought Mar made a lot of sense at one time, but right then . . . I really wanted to believe she was full of shit. I wanted to believe she was the insane person I’d originally thought because then I could brush off what she’d just said. The questions she’d just asked.
I had not, in two weeks, been able to put a single brushstroke on canvas, nor had I been able to put charcoal to paper. It was like my creativity tank had suddenly run dry, and I didn’t know why or how to fill it back up again. I was an artist who could no longer create.
I’d been avoiding the reasons behind my dry spell, much preferring to believe I’d hit a wall or was burnt out after a busy year, but really . . . I knew the reason for my creativity hiatus. Jesse. I knew, in some way, he was connected to it.
I wasn’t blaming him, but whatever we were going through was what set the whole thing in motion. We hadn’t seen each other in weeks, we’d been missing each other’s phone calls, and when we did manage to connect, he was distant. I could feel his distance. Five hundred miles separated us, and I’d never felt far from him when we talked on the phone. Up until the past month.
Some things were still the same. I still loved him past the point of logic, and I knew he felt the same about me. Things just didn’t feel the same. The worries I tried to keep locked in the back of my mind were becoming more and more in-my-face with every passing day. I could almost feel Jesse slipping away from me, and since I had no idea why he was, I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t know how I was losing him, just that I was. Bit by tiny bit.
If I lost Jesse Walker, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep myself from the same fate.
“Take it from me. You don’t want to settle down with one man. You need a new man, a new adventure every year to keep the muse alive. You marry this boy, and mark my words, you’ll kiss your art career good-bye.”
When my phone buzzed, I came close to sighing from relief. I didn’t want to think anymore about what Mar said or how much sense she made. I checked the phone, hoping it was Jesse. That time, I did sigh when I saw it wasn’t.
“Hey, Jax,” I greeted, shoving the rest of my uneaten lunch at Mar. My appetite was gone. It had been gone so much lately, my clothes were getting a little loose.
“Where are you?” Jax sounded breathless, almost like he was . . . excited.
“At work. Why?”
“Good. Stay there. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“What? No, tell me whatever you’re coming here to tell me on the phone. I hate suspense.” Plus, I didn’t need another stomach ulcer.
“Not even. I want to see your face when I tell you this.”
“Jax—”
“See you soon.” The line went dead.
I groaned. The night had started out strong. I’d packed my favorite candy bar, I’d gotten a hold of Jesse for a few minutes before starting m
y shift, and Sid had announced I’d be getting a fifty cent an hour raise starting next week. Yet there it was, not even ten o’clock, and I had Mar preaching to me about not marrying the man I loved or else, Jax pulling a hurry up and wait on the phone, and I wouldn’t even enjoy a stick of my Kit-Kat because Mar had just downed the rest of it in two bites.
Night fail.
“Was that a former muse or a future muse?” Mar asked, the melted chocolate of my coveted candy bar coating her teeth.
“Neither,” I grumbled.
“You want to talk about it—”
“No,” I almost snapped. I was in a pissy mood, and I couldn’t even blame part of it on PMS.
Mar stayed quiet for a couple of minutes, devouring what was left of my lunch. The whole time, I sat there stewing and getting angrier and angrier. Angry because of what she’d said? Maybe. Angry because of what she’d implied? Probably. Angry because, deep down, I was worried she was right? That, that question was the one that made me angrier just thinking about it. I tried to not think about it, I didn’t allow myself to answer it, but it wouldn’t go away. It had leeched to my brain and wouldn’t stop sucking the life out of it.
Before I knew it, the anger was spilling from my mouth. “Where do you get off giving me relationship advice anyways? What makes you think you’ve got all the answers and I’ve got none? What makes you so sure the man I’m with is so wrong for me?”
Mar popped the last chip in her mouth and watched me with an unfazed expression as she swallowed. “Experience.”
“Experience? Please. We’ve all got experience.” That was the laziest excuse for making one a know-it-all on life.
“Maybe. But not all experiences are created equal, Girlie.” She waved her finger at me again.
“And what makes your experiences superior to mine?”
Mar extended her arms to the sides and ran her eyes down herself purposefully. “My experiences left me penniless, homeless, broken-hearted, and alone. Does that answer your question?”
I bit my lip, feeling the slightest bit of regret for going off on her. Her rhetorical question got me thinking. I didn’t know much of Mar’s past, just like she knew little of mine. We really just talked about everyday things, along with her peppering in her random gems of wisdom and the occasional pointing and staring wide-eyed at the ground like she half-expected little demons to come crawling from it. I’d guessed she had a tumultuous past, but I didn’t know the details surrounding my assumptions. Or if they were even true. “What happened to you?”