Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sophie
Despite my insistence that he stay, Peter decides to go back to his own apartment after our conversation.
We also decide to delay our date tonight.
I get it.
We’re definitely at some sort of crossroads, and living together, dating like everything is normal, will only make it more difficult for us to be objective, to think clearly.
But I miss Peter when he’s gone. I miss his belongings stacked in the corner of the living room. His laundry basket beside the couch. I miss his laptop and his work things on the corner of the kitchen table. I just miss him. The way he makes me feel anchored, happy no matter what’s going on at work or with my family or anywhere else. It feels good to be around him, and it only takes a few minutes for his absence to feel more like a gaping hole in my life than a smart decision.
As soon as he’s moved out the last of his things, I finally get dressed and head back up to the roof to uncover the flowers. It’s nearly dinner time now, and my stomach grumbles on my way up the last flight of stairs, reminding me that with everything that’s happened today, I haven’t had anything to eat. Not since the coffee Peter made for me this morning.
Was that really only this morning? When I stood in my kitchen and kissed Peter’s coffee-warm lips? It seems so long ago.
On the rooftop, the early evening sky is clear, the air crisp and clean after the afternoon’s storm. Most of the plants look okay, despite the hail that fell earlier. Some leaves are damaged, but nothing severe enough to keep any of the plants from recovering.
Removing the plastic is much easier to do on my own, and it only takes a couple of minutes to pull up the stakes and roll up the sheeting. The flowers underneath look perfectly happy, blooms intact, leaves lifting toward the sky.
Once everything in the garden is tended for the night, I put away my supplies, then head back downstairs. When I reach my apartment, I find a brown paper to-go bag sitting on the floor in front of my door with a note stuck to the outside.
I reach down and pick up the note.
Pretty sure no situation exists that isn’t improved with tacos. Enjoy. –Peter
I carry the food inside, setting it on the table before pulling out my phone to send Peter a text.
Sophie
Really? NO situation? Are showers better with tacos? Or pap smears? What about a prostate exam?
Peter
Honestly, if I had to endure a prostate exam, I might enjoy the distraction of a good taco.
Sophie
Okay, fine. Same with the pap smear. But a shower? You can’t argue that one.
Peter
I could. For the right taco. You’d just have to eat fast. Have you eaten yet?
Sophie
Not yet. I was up on the roof uncovering the flowers.
Peter
Eat! Before they get cold. And be sure to use lime. You always forget and then complain when you remember after your taco is already gone.
I grin at my phone. He really does know me so well.
Sophie
Thank you for feeding me.
You should come back and get your groceries. You left a lot here.
Peter
If I take my groceries, you’ll have nothing to eat. Plus, I'm leaving on Monday morning.
My heart pinches painfully at the thought of Peter leaving, flying to Charlotte to try on a new job. A new life. A life that wouldn’t have me in it. At least not like his life now.
Sophie
I guess that’s true.
How are your lights?
Peter
I don’t want to jinx it by making an observation out loud.
Sophie
Texting is considered out loud?
Peter
Inside The Serendipity? Absolutely.
Sophie
I love that we talk about our building like it has a personality.
Peter
It does have a personality. And strong opinions.
Sophie
True.
Peter
Go eat your tacos, Sophie.
The text exchange goes a long way to easing the discomfort and uncertainty that’s been dogging me all afternoon. So I do eat my tacos. And they’re the best ones I’ve eaten in a very long time.
On Monday morning, my boss sends over a proposal request for a new commercial complex on the other side of town. It’s normally the kind of thing that would make me grumble and groan. Boring parking lots. Minimal green space. But this week, I’m happy to have anything to focus on that isn’t my very confusing love life, so I pour myself into the project and finish it in record time. My boss gave me until Friday, but he’s got a fully workable proposal on his desk by Tuesday afternoon.
I am in desperate need of a shower, I haven’t seen actual sunshine in thirty-six hours, and five of my last six meals have all been takeout, but I’m still calling it a win.
The only problem: with my work done so far ahead of schedule, I have nothing else to do to occupy my time.
Which is why, when David texts and invites me to have dinner with him Tuesday night, I agree.
That was the plan, after all. While Peter is checking out a new city, a new job, I’m supposed to be checking out David.
The idea of two people destined to love each other was exciting when I was thinking about other couples, but it’s a different story now that it’s me. It’s disconcerting to know that I’m supposed to fall in love with someone who, so far, hasn’t triggered any kind of emotional or physical response.
Maybe we just need to spend more time together? We didn’t touch the entire time we were together last Saturday, even in the tiny storage closet on the roof. It didn’t seem to matter with Jake, but could that be the missing piece with David?
Or is Peter the reason I can’t look at David with any sense of clarity? Maybe my heart is already so full, there isn’t room for me to consider anyone else.
But after everything I’ve been through, if I’m turning my back on the flower that promises a true-love guarantee, I have to do it with my eyes open.
So I’m going on this date.
Whether I want to or not.
And I’m going to be as objective and honest with myself as possible.
I arrive at the Thai place David recommended a few minutes early, so I sit in my car and pull up the thread of text messages with Peter.
We’ve chatted a few times over the last couple of days.
I asked him to let me know when he arrived safe in Charlotte. He did.
He asked me to check his mail for him and make sure his golden pothos is watered in his absence. I promised I would.
But other than that, we haven’t said much. I have a million questions, but I haven’t asked any of them because I don’t want to seem like I’m inserting myself into the middle of his decision. I don’t want to need him so much that he decides not to take the job because of me.
I wish I could text him right now. He always knows the exact thing to text when I need a boost of confidence or reassurance, but that feels even worse than asking about his trip. I’m supposed to be thinking about David right now. Not Peter. I definitely can’t text Peter and ask him for encouragement so I can successfully date David.
I groan and drop my head onto the steering wheel.
My life is ridiculous.
Utterly and completely ridiculous.
When my phone buzzes in my hand, I lift my head to see a call coming in from my mom. I still have ten minutes before I’m supposed to meet David, so I go ahead and answer. We’re supposed to have lunch tomorrow, and we still haven’t firmed up our plans, so that’s probably why she’s calling.
“Hey, Mom. How are you?”
“Oh, my gosh, Sophie,” she starts, “you aren’t going to believe what I’m doing right now.”
“No? What’s up? What are you doing?”
“I’m packing!” she practically singsongs. “For a trip to Paris!”
“Wow. Really?”
“I hate to do it, honey, but I need to cancel our lunch plans for tomorrow. Michael just got this amazing invitation to join a few friends in Paris for the week, and he’s asked me to go along!”
I can’t even believe I’m asking the question when I say, “Mom, who’s Michael?”
“Oh. Haven’t I mentioned him? You’ll love him. He’s handsome, rich. A total silver fox.”
“Do you really think it’s a good idea to go to Paris with someone you just met?” I ask, though I don’t know why I bother. My reservations have never influenced Mom’s behavior before.
“We didn’t just meet,” she says. “I’ve known Michael for years. We’ve just never dated. He just got a divorce, poor thing. So this trip to Paris is exactly what he needs.”
“Then…I guess I hope you have a good time,” I say, despite my hesitations. Honestly, at this point, what do I know? Mom seems happy. Who am I to say that flitting from one man to the next isn’t the perfect way to live? But I can’t keep myself from asking something I’ve never asked her before. Maybe it’s because my emotions are all so raw, but I just can’t pretend anymore. I can’t pretend like what we went through is normal. “Mom, why did you and Dad split up?”
She’s quiet for a long moment, so I know my question surprises her. “Well, where did that question come from?”
“I’ve been thinking about our conversation, when you said I was the one who’s hiding.” I pause and take a deep breath. “The thing is, I have a really big thing happening in my life right now. A person I think I might be in love with, but I’m so crippled with fear and anxiety about what might happen, and I just—I worry it screwed me up to see you dating so much.” The words surprise me, not because I don’t think they’re true, but because I’ve never said anything like them to my mother before.
“Oh, Sophie,” she says gently. “It’s impossible that it didn’t. That’s the hard part about being a parent. You do your best to handle your problems, to shield your kids, but there’s always fallout.”
“You did a good job, Mom. I was happy, healthy, safe. I just don’t have a lot of confidence in love. I mean, Dad left. Charles left. And every other man you’ve dated—they’ve all left, too.”
“Honey, your father didn’t leave. We got a divorce, but he didn’t leave me. We both wanted to end the marriage.”
A weight drops into the pit of my stomach.
“What?”
Mom breathes out a sigh. “We weren’t happy, Sophie. We were never happy.”
“Then why did you get married?”
“Because I was pregnant with you.” She chuckles lightly. “And believe it or not, because a fortune teller at the county fair told me your father was my soulmate.”
“Wait, what? How have I never heard this story?” I lean back in my seat, glancing around the parking lot in search of David. I’m happy when I don’t spy him anywhere, because I really want to know what my mother is talking about. I always knew I was conceived before my parents’ wedding. Mom is visibly pregnant in all the wedding photos. But I’ve never heard anything about a fortune teller.
“It wasn’t really about the fortune teller,” Mom says. “It was more about you. But your father and I—we didn’t get along all that well. We had great physical chemistry, but we fought all the time. We never saw the world the same way, but I’d just found out I was pregnant, and I wanted to believe we could turn ourselves into a family. When the fortune teller claimed she’d had a drink of the famed Serendipity Springs water and could see love, I latched onto the claim with my whole soul. And we did try. Both of us did. But six years is a long time to live a lie. We finally decided to call it, figuring the younger you were, the easier it would be for us all.”
“So you weren’t heartbroken when he left,” I say.
“I mean, it was a change, sure. But no. Your father did not break my heart.”
“Then why do you date so much?” I ask, still struggling to believe Mom’s version of her life. “I thought you were trying to protect yourself. To avoid another heartbreak by never letting a relationship get serious. That’s textbook behavior, Mom. You of all people should know that.”
She chuckles. “True. But that isn’t the case for me. I know it’s hard for you to believe, Soph, because your heart is so different from mine. But I really am happy. Maybe I will settle down one day, if I ever meet a man who makes me want to. But I’ve always been a free spirit. I like being my own person. I like spontaneous trips to Paris and eighty-day world cruises, but I also like knowing that at the end of the day, I don’t need anyone else to be happy. I have myself, I have a gorgeous daughter I’m proud of, and that’s enough for me.”
I sit in silence and let my mother’s words sink in.
“Sophie,” Mom says gently. She’s using her therapist voice now. “I probably was hiding a little at first. Protecting myself from the possibility of heartbreak. And I won’t pretend that every choice I make is perfect or that I don’t have things to work through on my own. But I want you to listen to me very closely, okay?”
I sniff against the threat of tears. I really don’t want to cry seconds before I go on a date. Though something tells me this date might not actually happen after all. “Okay,” I say, voice shaky.
“You’re different than I am,” she says. “Your heart is so big and so pure. You’ve always been made for loving people, for giving people your whole heart.”
“Then why have I never been in love?” I ask. “I’ve tried, Mom. I’ve dated and dated. But I’ve never had a relationship last longer than a few months. And I’ve been so scared that it’s because I’m just like you. That I’m subconsciously pushing everyone away.”
It’s the reason I latched onto the idea of using the flower to find my own happily ever after. It was a guarantee in a world that usually doesn’t offer one.
“You have, though, haven’t you?” Mom says. “Your relationship with Peter has lasted years.”
“Yeah, but we were just friends. That’s different.”
“I would argue you’ve always been a lot more than just friends ,” Mom says. “But even if I’m wrong and your relationship is purely platonic, friendships are still relationships. They require vulnerability and honesty and commitment. There’s nothing wrong with your heart. You’re still so young. You have plenty of time to fall in love. And if you want it, you’ll absolutely find it.”
“Wait,” I say. “You always thought Peter and me were more than friends?”
“Honey, everyone thought you were. That boy looked at you like you were the sun, moon and stars all at once.”
The tears are definitely falling now, and I don’t stop them. “He was pretty great, wasn’t he?” I say. “He’s still pretty great.”
“I ran into Evelyn the other day,” Mom says. “She said something about Peter moving to Charlotte. How are you feeling about that?”
A familiar knot tightens in my chest. “He’s there right now,” I say. “Checking things out. It’s supposed to be a really good job. Perfect for him.”
“Hmm,” Mom says. “Well, Charlotte is a lovely city. I’d love to have a reason to visit.”
I scoff. “What do you mean? He’s the one who would be moving, Mom. Not me.”
“Ah, well, either way,” Mom says. “Listen, I really have to go. But let’s have lunch as soon as I’m back in town, all right?”
I wipe at my eyes and sniff one more time. “Okay. I’d like that.”
“You’re not me, Soph,” Mom says. “You’re so much better than me, and you deserve the biggest, brightest, best kind of love.”
I end the call and drop my phone into my lap. Numb. A little shell shocked. But the longer I sit, the more certain I become.
I do deserve the biggest, brightest, best kind of love. And I know exactly where to find it.