Page 142 of Rising Heat
“You loved each other.”
“Yes.”
“And from where we’re sitting…” She pauses, choosing her words. “It looked like a good life.”
A good life. Not a happy one.
“I know what it looked like.”
Mom’s expression softens.
“I think that’s the part we’re struggling with.”
I wanted to tell them that the part that I struggled with was feeling like my opinion carried less weight than his, like my needs were always the flexible ones. Like I was expected to rearrange my life around his, but the idea of him rearranging his around mine was somehow unreasonable.
That I’d started disappearing inside a perfectly nice life. But trying to explain that to people who still thought in terms of good and bad suddenly felt impossible.
“It just didn’t feel right,” I say instead.
“I just think—” Mom sighs. “By now, I expected you would have had time to think about what you actually want.”
“I did think about it. That’s why I’m here,” I say, a little more defensively than I’d intended.
Mom sighs.
“We know.”
“Do you? Because it doesn’t feel like you do.”
“We’re trying,” she tries gently. “It’s just…you left a very stable situation.”
“I’m not getting back together with Brett.”
“Darcy, nobody said—”
“You kind of are.”
I feel the heat burning my cheeks.
“We’re worried this is a reaction, Darcy. Not a plan. Relationships aren’t always happy all of the time.”
A reaction.
As if I moved to Boston on impulse because I couldn’t manage my feelings. Or like the last six months hadn’t been the most deliberate and clear-eyed and genuinely myself I’ve felt in years.
My dad shifts on the sofa arm.
“We just miss you,” he says. “That’s really all this is.”
I know he means it. That’s what makes it so hard. His gentleness next to her concern is the exact combination that’s been making me feel like I need permission to want things for myself since I was eight years old.
“I miss you too,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
“But I’m good.”
I huff out a laugh that doesn’t sound much like one.
“I’m really good. I need you to trust that.”
