Chapter 32 Jude
Two Weeks Before the Wedding
Hey, hon, I’m a few minutes away from my lunch meeting. Everything okay?” my mom says when she picks up my call.
Damnit. I thought she might be open for lunch, but I guess a phone call will have to do. Gracie left my place an hour ago, and I’ve been watching the clock until I knew my mom might be free.
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I tell her, standing up from my desk. “But I wanted to ask you something.”
“Shoot,” she says, sounding distracted. I hear a distant blare of a horn, and then her muttered, “Okay, okay, I’m moving,” as she fights traffic.
I rub a hand over my face. “Maybe this isn’t the best time,” I say, even though every molecule in my body is vibrating with urgency.
Last night, Gracie opened me up in ways I’ve never been with anyone but my therapist. My small slipups were a far cry from the total trust she shared with me, but somehow, she intuited enough to see the rough shape of what I keep from everyone.
It should make me feel panicked. But instead, I feel like I’ve lifted my head above water for the first time in years.
“No, it’s fine, I’m listening,” my mom says. “What’s up, honey?”
Fuck it. I should wait for a better moment, but I can’t. “I met someone.”
The words fly out of me, as freewheeling as a boomerang destined to smack me in the forehead on its way back.
“Oh,” is her belated, surprised response. I run a hand through my hair as she recalibrates her expectations for this call. “That’s great to hear.” A beat. “How serious is it?”
The careful question betrays her concern. My mother didn’t become attorney general for lack of intelligence or an inability to spot danger. At the same time, I know she wants to see me happy, and that’s the chip I’m resting all my hope on. I weigh my words before answering.
“I could see a future with her. If I’m free to be honest with her.”
She’s quiet, and I know she understands what I’m getting at. I’ve safeguarded her secrets for years without question—even if it’s meant keeping whole parts of myself locked up from the people I care about. But with Gracie, that muzzle has never chaffed so badly.
“But you’re not officially with her?” my mom asks, seeing right through my intentionally vague language.
Shit. “Not technically. Not yet. But only because it wouldn’t be right. Not when I have to keep so much from her.”
She hesitates, and I can practically see her worried expression in the silence. “You know I don’t want to ask this, sweetheart, but how long have you known her?”
My teeth sink into the side of my cheek. “I met her at Nana’s funeral.”
My mom sighs, and my hope stumbles. “Jude, no,” she says, her voice apologetic.
“I love that you’ve found someone, and I’m sure she’s wonderful if she’s captured your attention like this, but I’ve had assistants longer than that who I still don’t trust to get my coffee right.
Have fun with her, but please—keep family business within the family. ”
She pauses, and I know what’s coming. “If anything were to get out, it would put all of my initiatives at risk. You know what’s at stake.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose hard, forcibly reminding myself of why she’s afraid. Of course her work is important. But there’s a line between protective and paranoid, and after so long, it’s become completely blurred. “I trust her, Mom. She’d never spread gossip.”
“I didn’t say she would. Not intentionally.
But is she trained in confidentiality like you are?
Or does she have a few best friends she shares everything with over mimosas?
Will those friends understand how damaging it could be if it came out that I—a woman who has based her entire career on protecting and opening doors for other women—has been involved with—”
Her escalating voice cuts off. I press my forehead to the cold glass of my window.
Her concerns, as much as I don’t want to admit it, are valid.
Her hard-won position has given her the ability to do immeasurable good for women in similar circumstances, and risking that power isn’t something she’s willing to do.
And I get it. But for the first time in my life, those risks seem worth taking.
“I trust her,” I say again with complete conviction. “She wouldn’t breathe a word.”
Her sigh is resigned, and something in my jaw pops. “I’m sorry, Jude. You want me to tell you I feel comfortable with this, but I don’t. Not yet. If you end up engaged to this woman a couple of years from now, we can revisit this topic then.”
“Mom—”
“I have to run,” she cuts me off, but there’s a tremor in her voice. “The governor’s waiting, and these days, he’s got a stick up his ass the size of a redwood tree.”
I run a hand down my face and look up at the ceiling in the hope that it might do me a fucking favor and crash down on me.
I have never once asked her permission to tell someone.
Not even Henry. Being instantly shot down after years of silence and loyalty feels like more than a slap in the face.
It makes my willingness to cooperate feel less like a choice and more like a cage.
I close my eyes, willing my heartbeat to slow. I remind myself of everything at stake for her. For her constituents. That this isn’t about me. It’s enough to calm me down and ask the question I’ve been keeping in the direct center of my chest.
“And what about my terms for keeping Larkwood?” I say, reminding her of her promise to consider leaving my dad.
There’s a loaded pause that has me bracing for impact. “After you and I spoke, I decided to take some space from your father. We haven’t been speaking.”
Shock pins my pacing feet to the ground where I stand. “Really?”
“It’s only until he comes back from Europe, but it’s been… a change of pace. I will say that.”
I bring a hand up to rub my suddenly tight chest, hope blooming inside of me like a dandelion through concrete. If she leaves him—really leaves him—it could change everything.
“That’s… really great to hear,” I say. “I’m so proud of you, Mom.”
There’s a long silence on her end. “But I’ve decided it’s not the best timing for something more permanent,” she finally says.
As quickly as it rose, my hope falls back to earth, skidding and burrowing until it’s deep underground. “But you said—” I start.
“I’m sorry,” she interrupts, voice tight with emotion. “I know how you feel and how much you want things to change. I know how difficult this is for you.”
“Do you, though?” I ask, before I can stop myself.
It’s such a selfish fucking question—God knows I’ve only been through a fraction of what she has.
But with dashed hopes and nothing to show for my Hail Mary, my anger flares hotter than my grief, burning everything in its path.
She sighs like she can feel it, and in the background, I hear the sounds of her car shutting off and the rustle of her jacket and keys.
“I’m your mother,” she says, and I can hear the exhaustion in her voice. The guilt. “Of course I do.”
She hangs up, and I only realize how hard I’ve been gnawing the inside of my cheek when I taste blood.
Goddamnit. I stalk to the bathroom to rinse my mouth.
It’s only when I get there that I see a lipstick heart on the mirror.
It’s small, almost like she was unsure if she should draw it or not.
On any other day, it might have given me hope for a future together.
But right now, all it seems to symbolize is everything I stand to lose if I can’t find a way to open up to her.
Beyond it, my normally pale face is flushed, my lashes wet.
When the fuck did I start crying? Quickly, I turn on the cold tap and wash away the evidence of how badly I wanted that call to go differently.
How badly I’ve wanted my life to go differently.
The icy water makes my face ache, but I can’t stop scooping it up in my trembling hands, wishing it would numb everything.
The anger at her. At my father. But most of all, at myself, for being stupid enough to think things could ever change.
When I finally look up, my collar is sodden, my hair dripping, and I’m shaking, but the heart is still there. I don’t know what the future holds. But one thing that’s as clear as my own determined reflection is that Gracie will be part of it.