I don’t want to sign it, but that nagging feeling of never being good enough for my mother won’t allow me to turn it down.
A mother shapes the very fabric of her child. What she does, or doesn’t do, impacts the child’s life forever. Did your mother pick at and critique every piece of food you put into your mouth? Then you probably have a complex about eating. Did your mother tell you who to be friends with and who not to be friends with, depending on their popularity? Then you are probably very distrusting. Did your mother constantly push you without the appropriate amount of pride expressed? Then you probably think you will never be good enough.
We all have mama drama. I know I’m not the only one. But it’s a little bit different for me, because my mother left. She wasn’t there to screw me up in other ways, because she simply wasn’t there. And she didn’t pass away either, which is another whole sorrow-filled set of issues that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. No, mine actually decided that she didn’t want to be a mother anymore.
And with that decision, she shaped the fabric of my life forever. I didn’t have that love, or nagging, or pride, or fun, or tradition. I didn’t have any of it. It’s why I’ve been so socially stunted my entire life. I lack the warmth and vulnerability and qualities to get along with others because my mother showed me that by being closed off, by being alone, you could be successful. She’d done it with her career, by way of example.
But at some point, we have to get past all of the terrible things our parents did to us. Whether big or small, we have to learn the acceptance it takes to move on from those issues, because after all, our parents are just people. They don’t have to be these gods and goddesses on that pedestal we put them on. They’re just trying their best or practicing what they learned from their parents.
We can either stay mired down in their shit or rise above it and choose to change.
I am trying to choose to change. I’ve come so far, with the help of Harper and the mother figures in her life. And then with Boone in my life again, I am beginning to realize that I can have a moment of anxiety-filled panic, and he won’t walk away from me.
Still, people don’t change that quickly, if you even believed they could.
That’s why I am at the Flipping Channel’s offices on this Thursday afternoon, instead of in class. It’s why I lied to Ramona and told her I was in bed sick, instead of at the reveal of a project we’ve been working hard on for three months.
It’s why I am standing in front of a photographer in a skimpy red dress, pretending to “bring my sexy” and act like Rosie the Riveter in stilettos. Seriously, that is what this prick has asked me to do.
Kutch wanted promo shots to begin marketing the series once I sign the contract. These are nothing like what I had in mind. I look like a pageant queen in a trailer park dress, wielding a hammer like it’s the biggest innuendo. The shots for my brand, that I had in mind, would feature a timeless Chanel suit, a well-placed overstuffed chair and some fabulous drapes as my background.
I could speak up, I could say no. But again, that LinkedIn page is burning a hole in the pocket of my bag that sits in the corner.
Sooner or later, I will have to make a decision one way or the other. I know either one will set the course for the rest of my career.
So for now, I let the pain in my heart, put there by my mother, rule my life.
Thirty
Annabelle
“This is our one day off together for the next three weeks. Can’t we just sit on the couch and eat ice cream? I told you I’d even watch another superhero movie!”
I’m whining, I know it, but it’s because I truly mean what I say. Our schedules don’t link up often so that we have an entire twenty-four hours of lazy freedom, but today they did.
And Boone wants to spend that time driving out to the country for God knows what.
“You’ll like this better. I promise.” His hand reaches across the gear shift and rubs up and down my thigh, eliciting tingles.
We’ve driven for almost an hour on the highway out of Austin before Boone takes an exit, winding through suburbs that turn into farmland and then eventually lead out to roads that might as well not even reside on maps.
“Where the heck are we?” I wonder aloud while entranced by the beautiful landscape whizzing past the car windows.
Boone doesn’t say much the entire drive, just hums along to Kenny Chesney on the radio and holds my hand. When he finally puts the car into park, we’re in a secluded gravel parking lot under a forest of trees.
“Let me guess, you brought me out here to murder me. Finally, off with my head!”
Boone chuckles, unbuckling his seatbelt. “If I wanted to kill you, I’d have done it a long time ago. I like you now, remember?”
Yeah, I remember. Especially since most of our alone, together time is spent sans clothes.
He takes a bag out of the back, grabs my hand as I get out of the car, and starts us walking. I don’t ask where we are again, because I have a feeling my quiet man just wants to show rather than tell.
The lush forest of trees breaks about twenty minutes into our hike-walk, and I’m flabbergasted.
A waterfall, bigger than one I’ve ever seen, stands right in front of us. It runs down the side of an enormous mountain, blue and green water running off into natural rock pools and moving farther into the forest in streams and rivers.
“Wow,” I breath, struck by the sheer beauty of nature.
While I can hang with the best of them on a construction site, I’m not much of an outdoors girl. Although I love the beach and the occasional run around the city. But this is breathtaking.
“Right? I saw pictures on a friend’s Instagram of this place and thought it would be worth a trip out of the city.” He shoulders the backpack he’s taken out of the car.
“Well, I’m glad you at least told me to wear sneakers today.”
“I just thought that a hike might be fun. A little exercise, a little sightseeing, a relaxing way to spend our day off.” He bends over to kiss me, and it lasts longer than either of us probably intend it to.
Boone pulls back, smiling like a goof. “All right, let’s go.”
Usually, I’m an indoor gym kind of girl. But the nature preserve and falls he’s brought me to is so gorgeous, I don’t even notice we’re exerting so much energy until we come to the large natural pool on the opposite side of the canyon we were hiking.
My legs burn, and my lungs are puffing out air, but it feels amazing. He was right, this was better than sitting on the couch. And it meant I got to watch his ass as he climbed in those workout shorts, and that is way better than any Netflix show I could binge.
Boone stops in front of the natural pool and begins removing his shoes.
“I didn’t bring a bathing suit.” Dammit, and cooling off in this beautiful place would have been great after the long week I’ve had.
He sets the backpack down. “It’s a good thing I had Harper raid your dorm room then.”
I’m a little shocked. “You packed for me?”
“I wanted it to be a surprise.” He shrugs. “Let’s see what we’ve got in here.”
He riffles through the bag, pulling out a bikini for me, a swimsuit for him, two waters, a couple of Tupperware containers of food, and sunscreen.
“You’re kidding. I’m … very impressed.” I raise an eyebrow at him, and walk over, wrapping my arms around him.
Going up on my toes, I hug him. Just hug him. The gesture is intimate and satisfying, to just be held by someone I care so much about it.
“Now I’m going over behind this rock to change. Don’t sneak a peek,” I scold him, holding a finger up.
“I’ve buried my tongue in your pussy, you don’t think you can change in front of me?” He rolls his eyes.
My legs turn to jelly when those crude words come out of his mouth. I can’t even speak, so I just pick up the bikini and walk to the rock to change.
Once I’m in my bathing suit, I walk out to
find Boone already floating around in the pool. “Feels so good in here.”
I don’t hesitate, just run and jump, the water coming up at me fast. My body hits the surface, breaking the water into cool waves around me as I sink. The water tastes so fresh, the serene silence of being under calming my mind. Coming back up, I wade to Boone and splash him.
We swim for what feels like forever, challenging each other to see how long we can hold our breath, or do a handstand in the shallow part of the pool.
At one point, I get out, attempting to execute a dive.
“Bet you won’t take off your top.” Boone’s expression is all challenge.
I’m no chicken, so I untie it, letting the triangles fall. “Oh, I won’t?”
“You’re so ballsy. Never the kind of girl to back off a dare. I love that about you.”
My heart flutters, he said the word love. I bite back that feeling of hope. “Now you take your suit off.”
His torso is under the water, and I watch as he removes them, throwing them over the side of the stones lining the pool.
“Now your bottoms.” Those whiskey-colored eyes are heated.
“Fine, I’ll take it off. But if I give you this, you have to agree to the second part of this date.” I cock an eyebrow at him.
Boone folds his arms over his naked chest. “And what’s that?”
“Nope, you didn’t tell me where you were taking me, so I don’t have to tell you. You just have to agree.” My fingers dig into my bikini bottoms, toying with him.
His eyes go straight to the place where I’m about to push the skimpy piece of clothing from. “You know I’m the one driving, right?”
“Do you want me to take my clothes off or not?”
That gives him the kick in the ass he needs. “I agree. Now take those off and get in here, the water feels fine.”
* * *
I’d seen the place as we drove through the country, and I knew right away what it was.
Thankfully, I wore jean shorts and sneakers for our outing today, although cowboy boots would have been a better fit for this place.
You can hear the country music from the road, before we even pull into the parking lot. The sign, blinking yellow neon, is just one word, Boots.
After the hike today, I am starving and in desperate need of a stiff drink. Nothing like Texas barbecue, line dancing and beer to fix that.
We spent a good long while under that waterfall, kissing and touching and splashing water at each other. We were like kids in puppy love, daring each other with our tongues to go just a little bit further. It was all foreplay and teasing, and it made me feel lighter than I had in years.
“This is where you wanted to go?” Boone smiles at me from the driver’s seat.
“We may be city kids now, but let’s not forget that we grew up in the country.” I wink at him, hopping out of the car.
Our fingers intertwine as we walk to the entrance, and there are two of three people standing outside the front door of the dance hall smoking cigarettes.
Inside, the place is electric. Booming music, the smell of fried food, beer and smoke. People laughing and singing, line dancing down the floor. It’s a big, comfortable party, completely Southern style.
The hostess escorts us to a booth alongside the dance floor, and we marvel as the dancers stomp and twist, every single person knowing the steps to that particular dance.
Our waiter comes over and asks if we’d like a beer or a glass of wine.
Boone shakes his head at a drink, sticking with water, but I ask for whatever light beer they have on tap.
“Beer, huh? You’re getting real honky-tonk tonight.”
I smile at him, my eyes casting over to the dance floor. “One of my favorite memories of when my mom was still around is when we’d go to the Town Hall Dance in Haven. Remember it? They’d shut down Main Street and set up that big tent in the middle of town. And all of the moms and dads would two-step and slow dance together. I remember my father twirling her around out there, her smile so wide, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her …” I trail off.
When I look back at Boone, there is sympathy in his caramel eyes. “You don’t talk about her much.”
I shrug. “It’s one of the only good memories of her that I have left.”
“I’m glad we can make new memories.” He looks at me, his eyes conveying something deeper. “There was a time, early on this year, that I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to look at you, truthfully. But I’m glad that we could both resolve the issues we had, both internally and with each other. I know I was an asshole, and you weren’t a peach. But days like today … I’ll never forget that.”
And you said you loved me today. I think it before I can correct myself. No, he said he loved that about me. I couldn’t forget those details, I couldn’t let my heart get ahead of my brain.
“Me too. Even if you’re too good-looking for your own good.” I smirk, because he looks damn good all sun kissed from the hike and windblown from the drive.
We order a whole bunch of food; corn bread and sweet potatoes, fried chicken, beef brisket and ribs slathered in chipotle sauce. It’s a messy feast, and while I’m usually a vapid salad and smoothie kind of woman, I chow down. I see Boone smile at me across the table a couple of times, but I’m too hungry to stop and talk.
When we’re done, we sit back, hands on our stomachs, content and tired. Until … a particular song comes on.
“Short Skirt Weather” by Kane Brown starts to beat over the dance floor, and I give Boone a sassy smile. Trailing him by the hand, I make my way to the dance floor. When we get there, he lets me go, watching with a satisfied smile as I join the line of dancers.
My body lets go of all the tension, of all of the anxiety. I’m in a place where no one knows me, or at least if they recognize me, they don’t say it. I’m just another faceless dancer, and I let the beat take me over.
My legs vibrate from the way I stomp my feet into the dusty floor, swinging my hips in an exaggerated motion, following the choreographed steps of the line dance that the entire floor is following. It’s fun and carefree, and I can’t remember the last time I just let go. Even when I went out on the weekends, it was always about impressing someone or getting plastered enough that I could forget about the negative thoughts that always lurk in the back of my mind.
The song winds to an end, and “Back to Life” by Rascal Flatts croons over the heads of the dancers. Boone slowly walks onto the dance floor from where he’s been standing, watching me, on the sidelines.
Doesn’t matter what we’re listening to,
Spinning her around the living room,
And I fall apart every time.
Their lyrics make a knot form in my throat as the man I fell for back in high school wraps his arms around my waist and sways me across the dance floor.
“Thank you for today,” I whisper in his ear.
His only response is to pull me closer until our cheeks press together.
Thirty-One
Annabelle
“I so needed this today.”
Harper picks up her second cappuccino of the morning, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Um, you’re going to put yourself into a caffeine coma, slow down.” I pick up my own coffee and revel in the delicious energy of it.
“A caffeine coma is an oxymoron.” She scowls.
“Not when your give yourself a stroke from one too many coffees.” I shrug.
We’re sitting in a corner booth at the diner closest to campus. It’s our monthly sisterly bonding breakfast, something Harper instituted because she felt bad always being out of town. And when she was in town, she was usually holed up in her bedroom with Cain, and I was not about to interrupt that shit. So we’d agreed on a monthly brunch session, to fill each other in and call each other out on bullshit. Mostly, it was me poking holes in Harper’s latest novels, and she would get on me about every life decision. She was the one person who could be just as mean to me
as I was to her, and we still enjoyed our French toast in the process.
“Did I tell you that I’m starting a new book? This one is going to be a romantic suspense novel.” Harper picks up a piece of bacon from one of the plates our waitress just set down and chomps a big piece into her mouth.
The table looks like it’s the spread from a Harry Potter movie, you know the scenes in the Great Hall where all of the food just keeps magically piling up. I ordered French toast, hash browns, two scrambled eggs, a coffee and an orange juice. Harper opted for chocolate chip pancakes, bacon and sausage, and two sunny-side up eggs. Oh, and her cappuccinos with a side of apple juice. The other agreement for this breakfast is that we stuff ourselves with all of the food we avoided on our perpetually slipping diets.
“Hmm, romance. Interesting. Didn’t peg you as a sexy smut kind of writer, but I’m all for it. As long as you get kinky in the sex scenes. Every woman loves a good fucking, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Harper’s face flushes a deep pink at the word fucking. “You’re so vulgar.”
“Nah, just honest.” I shrug, squirting ketchup on my eggs.
Except I wasn’t honest. Not about the biggest lie of omission I was keeping from everyone. I still hadn’t decided what to do about the show offer, and even though this breakfast has always been a safe vent space … something was keeping me from telling my stepsister. Probably because I know she is my biggest and best mirror. Harper would tell me how much of an idiot I am being and to call them up right now and decline.
“Well, maybe you can give me some notes on your sex life with Boone, then.” She waggles her eyebrows and I know she’s just trying to get back at me for using the word fucking.
“Yuck. You know that sex is the one topic that is off-limits. It’s like … incestuous.” I shudder.
You’re the One I Don’t Want Page 12
