“Mama, it didn’t work out.” The crying reignited. It’d never actually stopped, but the thought that I hadn’t quit sobbing was even more pathetic. “Jonah and I...”Broke up.Were those even the right words? We’d talked about going out, but there’d been no labels beyond mountain man and brother’s girlfriend.
“Aw, honey. I’m so sorry. Do you want to tell me what happened?”
I did in giant, halting gasps. I recounted the date and what he’d said to Rhys and then our argument. “Months, Mama. And I never called him my boyfriend.”
“Sometimes simple words don’t do justice to how we feel.”
“But he didn’t think of me as his girlfriend either. Eli’s, yes. Boyd’s fiancée, yes, but not his girlfriend.”
“Maybe he just thought of you as his.”
The tempo of my crying changed. Openly weeping, I put the phone on speaker, set it on the dash, and searched for a tissue.
“Summer?”
“I’m still here.” I found a napkin I’d squirreled away in the glove compartment and blew my nose. “Sorry.”
“Get it all out.”
“I’m old enough to know better.”
“We can say that all we want, but it doesn’t hold water when it comes to emotions. You and Jonah are in a different place and it hurts. But you would’ve regretted it if you hadn’t tried.”
“I’ve only ever wanted him.”
“The problem is, others aren’t ours to have. They have to give themselves, and after what Jonah’s been through, he’s too afraid to put himself out there.”
Why did Mama have to speak such sense? I should’ve called Autumn. She’d have at least given me one “Fuck him.”
“The pain is fresh,” she continued. “Old pain and new pain combined tonight for you both.”
“Me?”
“Yes, Summer. You went right from Boyd to Jonah.”
“But—”
“I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, but I’m saying it might be affecting how you two are dealing with each other.”
I couldn’t see her point. I was over Boyd.
“You and Jonah went from nothing to each other’s everything when you were stranded together.” She used the same gentle tone when she was talking to her chickens in the morning. “Now you’re not together all the time, but you’re not really separate. I imagine his thoughts are as consumed with you as yours are with him.”
“I doubt that,” I said bitterly.
“Which is why some time to yourself might be a good thing. Give him time, Summer. Give yourself the same.”
Time to what? Frustration built and more tears rolled down my face with it. I’d called Mama for comfort. I’d wanted her to tell me that I was going to be fine and everything would work out, like she had when I’d first arrived at her house a scared little girl.
“Okay, Mama.” I wanted off the phone, to crawl into my bed and cry some more. I wanted to cry for the little girl who was so scared she’d lose all her family. For the older girl who knew she’d given in to the wrong guy. For the young woman who’d ruined a whole family’s life standing up for herself. And for the adult who never seemed to find Mr. Right, only a Mr. Right Now.
“I can talk more, hon.”
“I’m tired, Mama. Too much crying. Love you.”
“Love you too. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
And I would pretend I was fine. I would answer with only a hint of sadness so she wouldn’t know that I probably hadn’t gotten out of bed to do more than go pee.
