Love You Truly (Buttercup Hill #3)

Chapter 34

Mallory

It feels good to whack at the soil with a hoe. I don’t know if I’m doing the right kind of tilling for the future food garden I have planned for this site, but it’s giving my back and arms a workout and my brain a rest.

A lot of dirt is flying in my face instead of staying on the ground, where it belongs. I’m not great with a hoe or any garden tools, for that matter. Ironic, given how much time my parents spent working the land—literally.

Growing up, I never had an interest. Instead of planting a garden, I learned makeup tips. Instead of getting my hands dirty, I got my nails done. And by the end of high school, I couldn’t use a hoe, but I did my best to be one.

“So you figured it out.” My mom’s voice sounds just like mine, only she speaks slightly slower, something that came with age.

“What?”

“How good it feels to whack at weeds with a metal implement.”

I turn to look at her, leaning on the handle of the hoe while the business end digs into the ground. “I didn’t know you guys were back.”

My mom laughs. “That’s the beauty of wandering. No set date for return.”

Standing here in the field, digging into the soil, I can’t believe I never asked her about what motivated her and my dad over all these years. “Why do you do it? What would be so hard about making a set plan and letting the people in your life know what you’re doing? Worried they might get the wrong idea and think you care about them?”

I don’t mean for the words to come out sounding so harsh, but I guess I haven’t fully accepted their choices despite Dash’s wise words a few weeks back. Or maybe I’m rejecting his words because he seems to have rejected me. I haven’t heard from him at all since we agreed to take a break.

“It was never about not caring. I hope you know that.”

I look at my mom. Maybe for the first time in my life, I really look at her. She seems healthy and suntanned in a way that comes from working the land under a broad-brimmed hat. She has more of a glow than a tan. Her light eyes have a sharpness to them, as though observing the tiniest details around her and cataloging them away with delight.

“How could I know, Mom? You were always leaving. Always finding bigger adventures than whatever existed here. Like I wasn’t exciting enough to make you stay.”

The light dims in her eyes, and she squints at me. “How could you ever imagine that? You…you were what I came back to. You’re my touchstone that allows me to go where my heart wants to wander because you’re here when I come home. I adore you, Mallory.”

So many warring thoughts jockey for attention, but one shoves its way to the forefront: I’m the reason she comes home, not the reason she leaves. It still doesn’t excuse her behavior, but for the first time, I understand her fuzzy logic, at least the way it makes sense in her mind.

“That’s not…normal, Mom. Parents don’t put their kids in that position. They don’t make their kids beg them not to leave just so they can feel valuable when they return.”

“I know. I know it doesn’t make sense, but it’s how your dad and I are wired. We did the best we could. Truly. If we hadn’t spent time away, learning from growers and working the land with people who really needed our help, we’d have been far worse parents than we actually were.”

“Bull. Shit.”

She startles at my words but doesn’t disagree.

“I needed your help. Me, your own daughter. Life wasn’t easy for me, and you weren’t there for any of it.”

She observes me in the same way she always has, as though I’m an interesting specimen who bears no real resemblance to her. For once, I’m glad we look nothing alike. I don’t want to be anything like her.

The longer she looks at me, the more I wonder what she sees. I try to picture myself from her point of view. Ponytail hair with straggling tendrils flopping against my face, dirt on my arms and legs because I’m bad at gardening. She probably sees a farming failure.

“You are amazing,” she says. “I’ve always seen that in you, and I see it now. You’re amazing and capable.”

“Thanks.” I’ll take the compliment, even if it comes after I twisted myself into knots to make myself believe it.

She shakes her head. “I don’t want you to do it alone. I know you think that makes me sexist, but it’s not about that.” She stares off into the distance, which is easy since our land is flat. We can see all the way to the mountains from here in both directions.

“I figured it was because you thought I wasn’t capable.”

“No. You’re too capable. You don’t need a man in your life or anyone else for that matter, but I hoped for more for you. I wanted you to have a connection like the one I have with your dad. I wanted you to fall in love.”

“I did.”

Standing there with my hoe, working the land, I think I have it all together, so it surprises me when I burst into tears. They come rolling, accompanied by sobs, and my mom does what only moms know how to do. She holds me and lets me cry it out while she smooths my hair and tells me she loves me.

After a minute, the sobs subside, and my mom loosens her grip. Putting her hands on top of my shoulders, she speaks directly into my face. “I’m sorry for pushing Felix on you. I just wanted you to have some help, and he was here telling us he’d do that for you.”

“I hate him.”

She nods. “Somehow…I didn’t know that. I am sorry.”

“Sorry enough to amend the contract and get him out of my life?”

“I don’t?—”

I cut her off. “It’s okay, Mom. I know it’s already been signed and executed. It’s just a bunch of grapes. It’ll be okay.”

Underfoot, I feel the earth that I fought so hard to take over, and I feel grateful to my parents for making me work for it even though I didn’t understand the method behind their ways. But now, as I stand here, I understand that it’s not enough.

It’s not enough to plot world domination alone, not when there’s a man who loves me and wants to plot it with me.

When I look at my mom again, I find her beaming at me as though she’s proud of my hoeing. Which is impossible because I suck. So it must be something else. “What?” I ask.

“You can have everything you want. But sometimes you have to loosen your grip a little bit, that’s all. If it’s the right thing, it’ll be yours. That’s how it’s worked all these years with your dad and me.”

Her philosophical advice is opaque, but at least she’s staying on brand. I interpret it to mean that if I love something, I need to have a little faith. Maybe even set it free.

I owe Dash the truth, even if it means risking my heart. So I go for broke. Or, in my case, broken glass.

Walking through Sunshine Foods, I can’t help but think about the day Dash saved me from crashing to the floor into a sea of glass and pickle juice. I was such a bitch that day, embarrassed and frustrated. I didn’t even ask him if he was hurt.

Today, I make a beeline for the pickle display, which is right there on the endcap of an aisle, just begging to be knocked over again. You’d think they’d learn from the past.

I grab one jar of tiny dills and pay for it at the checkout. Then I go home and write Dash a note.