33. Rose #2
“Babe, it’s so much drama, you would not believe. But most of the time, couples wind up happy in the end.” She grins widely at me. “And the ones that don’t have happy endings make great stories to tell at parties.”
Cassie and I finish our dinner date with a warm hug and promises to get together again soon.
I walk the block to where I parked my car, full of so much optimism and hope, I’m woozy on it.
Not just because of these giddy feelings for Reed, but for finding a new friend, too.
Apart from him, it’s been a long time since someone lifted me up so freely.
I can’t wait to see her again and be the same kind of friend back.
I’m almost to my car when my phone buzzes with a text. My thoughts immediately go to the coffee shop, and if Reed’s come to his decision already. But it’s not from him.
It’s a text from my mom. There’s a link to an article titled, “How to finally break your dating curse” with the note, “Good tips here!”
Just like that, my happiness shatters like sugar cubes dropped on the sidewalk. I make my way to my car, my eyes welling with tears for the second time this afternoon. She’s so careless with my feelings, it’s like she thinks I don’t have any. Even my new friend showed better care with my heart.
I shut myself up in the car, my limbs buzzing like I’m covered in bees. I need a minute to settle my nerves before I drive home. I turn the battery on to roll the windows down, taking calming breaths that don’t actually soothe.
I know what I need to do. I’ve just never done it before. Whenever you wake up, it’s always morning. It’s time for me to wake up.
I hit the phone symbol on Mom’s text. She answers on the first ring.
“Rosie! Did you get some good advice from that article? She really goes into depth about being the kind of girl men are looking for, and—”
“Mom, no.” I take a deep breath. “I didn’t read it. I…” I take another big gulp of air. “It hurts when you send me things like this.”
The line is silent for a beat. “Hurt you? Honey, I’m helping you.”
“I know you mean it that way, Mom. But sending me articles about my ‘dating curse’ or how to make myself into a different person to win over a guy…that’s not helpful.”
A soft sound of disbelief comes through the line. “How are you going to improve yourself if you don’t know what men want? Don’t you want your relationship with Reed to last?”
“Mom.” I look out the window, watching townies stroll up and down Maple and wander into shops, all of them merrily unaware of the woman just feet away from them making a major life change in her car. “I actually think I’m pretty great. I don’t want to change myself for a man.”
Not anymore. And never again.
“But I do have some things I need to work on. Like getting better at telling people no. And not trying so hard to be agreeable that I lose sight of my own wants and needs.”
My heart slams against my ribcage, letting me know loud and clear this is a fight or flight situation. But for the first time, I’m choosing to fight.
“I don’t understand where this is coming from. Are you saying I’m a bad mother?”
“She said what?” Dad bleats in the background. “What’s happening?”
“I’m not saying that. I’m telling you it hurts my feelings when you tell me I’m not good enough and that I always need to change.”
“I’m trying to help you, Rosie.” Mom’s pleading, which only makes me feel worse. She really thinks she’s in my corner, when half the time, I’m shadow-boxing against her helpful advice. “You’re thirty-one, honey. You don’t have a lot of time. You need our help, or you might never find someone.”
I’ve believed that for a long time. Mom and Dad got married young. They must have had it figured out, right? But I can’t go on feeling like a failure for not having what they do yet.
And that is a resounding yet. Not ever.
“I don’t need your help anymore with this. Like you said, I’m thirty-one. I can do this on my own.” My relationships, my wants and needs, my life. I can handle it all.
“But—”
“I love you, Mom. So much. But I don’t want to hear any more about what I’m failing at or how I need to put myself second or all the ways I’m ruining my relationships.
” Nerves and exhilaration clash together inside me, making me vibrate with energy like a plucked guitar string. “I need you to stop doing that.”
“If that’s what you want.” She sounds as if I asked her to give up breathing oxygen. “But I just know if you only—”
“Mom.”
“Oh. I guess that’s part of it.” She sighs. “It won’t be easy to stop making suggestions, Rosie. I want the best for you, I hope you know that. But I’ll…I’ll try.”
Trying’s a start. But we’re not done here. No sense wasting this adrenaline churning through me.
“We also need to talk about the house.”
“What do you mean?” She’s wary now that I’ve thrown her off guard. But I’m not sure I could have approached this in a way where she’d welcome the conversation.
“I painted the living room.”
“Oh, Rosie.” She scolds me like I’m a toddler who just dumped out a bag of flour. “We agreed you wouldn’t do that.”
“I didn’t agree. You told me. But giving me the house and not letting me change anything—not even moving any of your things out—isn’t really giving it to me.”
“The deed has your name on it,” Dad says.
“Yes, and I’m grateful for it. I really am. But I’m not allowed to actually live in it, am I? What am I supposed to do when I find the man I want to share my life with? How do I bring him into my space when I’m still sharing it with you?”
Mom gasps. “Does this mean Reed’s moving in?”
That one’s on me. I walked into it.
“This isn’t about Reed. It’s about me.” I shore up my courage for the last important part. “If you don’t intend on ever moving out of the house, I’m going to give it back to you.”
I love the house, but I don’t love it so much I’ll give up my personal space indefinitely for it. I can’t keep living in the second bedroom, dusting my parents’ iron sculptures for the rest of my life. I need it to feel like mine.
“No, Rosie. We want you to have it. We just…” She sniffles.
My heart aches to upset her so much, but this conversation is overdue. Maybe we shouldn’t be having it over the phone while I sit in my sweltering car but waiting another six months until they’re home again would just let it go on festering.
“It was easier not to think about the rest,” Dad says. “We got so excited about our travel plans, honey. We wanted to start right away. But maybe we shouldn’t have saddled you with all that.”
“We can get a storage unit when we come back at Christmas.” Mom’s definitely crying now. “It’s your house, Rosie. I’m sorry we did this all wrong. Have you been very upset with us?”
“I haven’t been upset, Mom. I just didn’t know how to ask for what I wanted. I’m trying now.”
“I’m starting to think Reed’s been a bad influence on you,” Dad jokes. Mom shushes him.
Nope. Reed’s been nothing but a good influence.
He’s also the next person on my list I need to tell exactly what I want.