Page 13 of If You Were Mine (After We Fall 3)
She looked nervous, which was rare for her. “I definitely agree he’s a dick for saying that to you, but I might want to hire him as a marketing strategist, because it seems like he’s really good at reading people in a short amount of time.”
“Seriously?” I looked back and forth between them. “You guys think he’s right? I haven’t fallen in love yet because I’m scared?”
“I don’t think that’s the only reason you haven’t found someone,” Margot said gently. “But I do think there’s some truth in what he said about you being afraid of rejection, so maybe you don’t give yourself a chance to fall in love. Like maybe you talk yourself out of it.”
“On purpose? Why on earth would I do that?” This was unbelievable!
Jaime shrugged. “It might not be on purpose. Sometimes I think our subconscious works against us or something. Your brain is like, Yes, I want to find someone so I’m going to go on this date, and your heart goes, But wait, this is scary and I could get hurt. So you look for things wrong with the person, reasons why they’re not the right one. We’ve all done it.”
I inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to stay calm.
“I think it goes beyond dating, too,” Jaime went on. “You’re brilliantly talented, and for as long as I’ve known you, your dream has been to sell your artwork, or at least display it somewhere, but you haven’t done that yet, either.”
“I’m going to,” I said defensively. “Jeez, you guys.”
An awkward silence hung among us, which was rare.
Margot touched my hand, her blue eyes full of concern. “I’m sorry if we hurt your feelings. We didn’t mean to.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Jaime said. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m an asshole.”
I took a shaky breath. “I’m OK. It’s just not terribly pleasant to hear that your friends—and a complete stranger, which means it’s probably obvious to everyone but me—think I’m sabotaging all my dreams because I’m a coward.”
“You’re not a coward,” Jaime said fiercely. “You’re just careful. But you’re also beautiful and wonderful and gifted and we just want everyone to know it. Be brave! Put yourself out there!”
“I hear what you’re saying. I just don’t know how to do that.” I frowned. “I wish I was more like my sister.”
Jaime rolled her eyes. “I said brave, not egomaniacal.”
I managed a small smile. “I’ll try.”
“You sure you’re OK?” Margot asked.
“Yes. Look, it’s not really anything I didn’t know—I’ve been a Nervous Nellie all my life. There’s a reason I don’t get on airplanes, horses, or motorcycles. I’m not a thrill-seeker. And normally I’m fine with it. I’m probably oversensitive right now because I feel like I’m surrounded by happy couples, and I’m the misfit. The odd one out.”
“You’re not.” Jaime was adamant.
“Of course you’re not,” Margot added.
I was, but it wasn’t their fault and I didn’t want them to feel guilty about being happy and in love. “Let’s talk about something else.” I turned to Margot and put on a smile. “Tell me what’s new with the wedding.”
While she filled Jaime and I in on how all the final details were shaping up, I found myself getting swept up in the romantic excitement. Although they’d considered getting married up at the farm, in the end Margot had caved to her mother’s insistence that she get married at Fort Street Presbyterian, where five previous generations of Thurber women had tied the knot. She’d chosen a ballroom at the Westin Book Cadillac Hotel downtown for the reception. “Wait until you see the centerpieces. They’re gorgeous,” she gushed. “And the invitations came out beautifully.”
With Margot’s sophisticated taste—and unlimited budget—I had no doubt the whole affair would be exquisite from start to finish.
Jaime and I were throwing her a surprise shower next month. It was a challenge since Margot liked to micro-manage every little thing, but we’d gotten her to set aside the date by telling her we wanted a spa day and “booking” a bunch of fake appointments. In reality, we were throwing her a champagne brunch, which included all different kinds of scones—a little inside joke about the time Margot had lost her cool at a party and hurled a bunch of scones at her ex-boyfriend.
It made me laugh every time I thought about it. She was normally the calmest, classiest woman in any room. Bad behavior was completely out of character for her. But if she hadn’t thrown those scones, she wouldn’t have had to leave town. And if she hadn’t left town, she wouldn’t have met Jack at the farm.
Maybe that’s what they meant by being brave—doing something different. Something surprising and out of character. Something that invigorated me, forced me off the usual path, opened my eyes to new possibilities.
But what?
* * *
My mother had called while we were having dinner, and I called her back on my way home, wondering what Christmas tune her ring tone was today. Holidays were like catnip to my mother, especially Christmas, so she was always in a good mood in December. Nothing made her happier than getting ready for the holidays, and she still carried on all the traditions of my childhood, even though Giselle and I were grown and out of the house. She still hung our stockings, moved the Elf on the Shelf around, and put out cookies for Santa. I swear if you cut her open, she’d probably bleed tinsel.
“Hi, honey!”
