Chapter 39
Ari
The next afternoon, the Langford house looks like a wedding exploded inside it.
Garment bags hang from doorframes. Boxes of decorations cover every available surface. Somebody left ribbon on the kitchen counter. Somebody else left ribbon in the bathroom.
At this point, I’m fairly certain the ribbon is reproducing on its own.
Landrie stands in the middle of the dining room, holding two centerpiece options while my mom critiques both of them.
“No.” My mom shakes her head.
Landrie sighs dramatically. “Why?”
“Because you said you were going for fall rustic. That one looks summer-ish to me.”
“It is not summer-ish.”
“It is.”
Landrie throws her hands into the air. “Fine. Then you pick the one you want just like you’ve picked everything else for this wedding.” She sets both centerpieces on the table and stomps out of the room.
My mom watches, waiting until she’s gone. “She’s driving me crazy.”
A laugh slips out.
“What?” Mom turns toward me.
“I don't know. I’ve just never seen you get annoyed with Landrie before.”
Mom snorts. “That’s because you haven’t lived here.”
The answer surprises me enough that I stop to think about it. “Seriously? I always thought you two had the perfect relationship.” I shrug, suddenly feeling more vulnerable than I intended. “I’ve actually been a little jealous of it.”
Her brows pull together. “Jealous?”
“Yeah.” I look down at the centerpiece ribbon in my hands. “Everything always seemed easier between you two. You approved of her choices. You were proud of what she was doing with her life. You understood each other.”
The room goes quiet.
For a moment, I wish I could pull the words back.
Instead, Mom reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers. “Oh, sweetheart. “That’s not how it’s been at all. Landrie and I argue plenty.”
“Not like we do.”
“No.” She smiles sadly. “Not like we do.”
The honesty catches me off guard.
Mom sighs and leans back in her chair. “But do you know what the difference is?”
“I’m more difficult?”
“No.” She frowns. “I worry about you more.”
The answer is part comforting and frustrating.
“When Landrie makes a decision, I rarely lose sleep over it. But with you...” Her voice softens. “You moved across the country. You stayed in relationships that broke your heart. You tried so hard to build a life that wasn’t making you happy.”
My throat tightens. “Mom, I don’t want to get into it all over again.”
“No, let me say this.” Her shoulders fall.
“You did all of that, and I couldn’t be there with you to help you.
It’s been hard for me to let go, you know?
And then, somewhere along the way, my worrying turned into trying to control you and your choices just so you wouldn’t get hurt again or so that things wouldn’t be so hard for you. ”
My mom doesn’t usually admit things like that.
“I kept trying to fix everything. Push you. Protect you. Prevent mistakes before they happened.” A small laugh escapes her. “Fear parenting, I suppose.”
The phrase makes me smile because, now that she’s described it like that, I can see it perfectly.
“I thought if I could just help enough, advise enough, interfere enough, I could guarantee you’d be happy. But I can’t.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “But I’m learning something.”
“What’s that?”
“That you’re not me. You don’t need my life plans. My choices. My approval.” Her lips lift. “You need room to make your own decisions.”
Emotion presses unexpectedly against my chest. “Even if they’re bad decisions?”
“Especially then.”
I laugh.
Mom does too.
Then, her expression turns thoughtful. “Although, I don’t think Wade is one of the bad decisions.”
My heart immediately betrays me, and I smile big, like a woman who just had the best makeout of her life last night—which I did.
“That’s what I’m talking about.” She points at my overdone grin. “Nobody has ever made you smile this much.”
I immediately think about last night.
The dance.
The truck.
The excessive kissing.
“See? It’s like you can’t stop.”
I cover my face.
“There’s no point in covering your face, Ari. It’s obvious to everyone how you two feel about each other.”
“To who?”
“Everyone.”
That answer should embarrass me. Instead, it feels strangely reassuring that, for once, maybe I’m not reading all the signals wrong. That I’m not ignoring a million red flags just because this feels good.
“I was wrong about him.” My mom’s voice softens. “I like who you are when you’re with him. He’s good for you.” Her eyes shine slightly. “And after everything you’ve been through, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The room feels different somehow. Nothing is fixed or entirely perfect between us, but it does seem better.
“I still reserve the right to worry and meddle.”
I laugh. “I wouldn’t expect anything different from you.”
“But I’m going to try harder to trust you.”
“Thank you.”
“Besides,” she says casually, “if you let that man get away, after the way he looks at you, I’m not sure I can help you.”
A startled laugh bursts out of me, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like my mom and I are standing on the same side.
And it’s a good start.