Page 63 of He Has Pluck

She smiles, but it’s not a happy smile. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t rush things or push you. It’s just that I want so much for you to let yourself be loved, to understand it’s not a weakness if you have a partner who cares for you.”

Her words may as well be in Swahili—which I never did learn—because I can’t absorb what the hell she’s trying to say.

“You were going to tell me about you and the water skier,” I say. “And tell me why you left the best man—”

“Your father was a good man,” she says. “One of the best. But he didn’t love me.” Her words sound so final and sad that I have to squelch the instinct to hug her, almost forgetting she’s the bad guy here.

“Of course, he did. He married you, didn’t he?”

“He married me to further his career, sweetheart.”

Rage floods me at the nasty implications of her words, at the truth I can feel underneath them. I lift my hand to strike her. She doesn’t flinch, but her eyes flare. My hand folds and lowers, and I touch her leg, bowing my head. My God. What is wrong with me?

She puts an arm around my shoulder again.

Was Dad truly that single-mindedly ambitious that he would do that to Mom? Use her, lead her on, have a child and—

“He loved you,” I say, looking at her with fierce determination because I need to believe it. “He must have. You…” I want to tell her she gave him a child, me, and he treasured me, so he must have loved her too, but I can’t.

“He adored you, sweetheart. He always adored you.” She hugs me, and this time I take it in and hug her back. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t stay for you. You know I wanted you to come with me more than anything, but you were always daddy’s girl, so much like him.” She shakes her head and then swipes a tear from her beautiful cheek.

For the first time, I back away and look at her, really look at her, and I see a middle-aged woman, an aging beauty with all the elegance I remember from my girlhood and all the sweetness. She’s all soft, while Dad was all hard, cool-headed and driven to make a difference, to do his duty. His duty to his diplomatic cause meant everything to him. He put his career, his goals and ambitions first, always.

Where did I hear a lecture about the evils of putting your goals and dreams above your family before? Fucking Jason Tansem and his hockey boy wisdom.

“Tell me about your water skier. Why him?”

“Because we fell in love. He’s a smart, good man, and even though he was committed to doing well in his career, he loved me with all his heart and put me first.”

“But a water skier? That’s somehow worse than running off with the tennis pro.”

She laughs. “Don’t be so judgmental, Jule. He’s a very good and substantial man, not just beefcake. Ben owns a boating service and marina, sweetheart. He hasn’t water skied professionally for years. He’s always been financially independent. He’s not irresponsible or lazy or completely impractical. Your father knew that—or he should have because I told him—because I wanted him to make you come with me. I begged him to insist you couldn’t stay with him.”

“I didn’t know that. He told me I was better off with him, that if you wanted me, you would stay, for better or worse.” I realize I was too immature then to understand things aren’t so black and white, and I’ve been too set in my thinking since then. Until now.

“You were so young and vulnerable then.” She laughs. “But it’s not as if you’re a wise old lady now. You’re only twenty-seven and have your whole life ahead of you. I so want you to have everything you want, including the love of a good man.”

“Whether I think I want it or not?” I say.

“Could Jason be the one?” she whispers. I can tell she thinks she knows the answer, but something in me resists accepting the quick and easy conclusion. Because it can’t be this quick or easy. Or maybe quick and anything but easy.

“Jason is a fling,” I say for the sake of argument because my guts can’t take any more flips in reality. It’s safe to admit he’s a fling. “He’s too young for anything more,” I say out loud, testing the argument to see if it has legs.

My mother laughs. “Ben is seven years younger than I am, and we’ve been together for twelve years now with every intention of spending the rest of our lives together.”

“You’re married. Of course. I’m not, and I doubt I ever will be.”

She heaves a sigh. “Just promise me one thing, Juliette. Keep your mind open. Give Jason a chance.”

I laugh. “You don’t even know him.”

“I know it sounds silly, but I have a feeling about him. About you and him. Indulge me.”

“I don’t owe you any indulgence. But my mind happens to be open a crack. I’m going to the hospital with him.” I don’t tell her I need to beg his forgiveness, that we’re starting at less than zero because things are already messed up between us.

“I’m glad.” She stares, giving me a longing look like she wants to say more, but I’m all talked out, done dealing with emotional baggage. I don’t know how I’m going to deal with Jason later, but I will.

“Nice talk, Mom,” I say. “But you know it doesn’t change anything between us.”