"That I'm overthinking this?"
"That you're assuming you can only choose one thing." She pulls out a burgundy wrap top I forgot I owned. "Career or relationship. Independence or connection. But Bea? Life doesn't work like that. You can have both. You can build your careerandexplore this. One doesn't cancel out the other."
I take the top from her, running my fingers over the soft fabric. "But what if?—"
"What if you give yourself permission to want both?" She kisses the top of my head. "This one. With those jeans. And your brown boots. You look beautiful in that color. It makes your eyes pop. And more importantly, it makes you feel confident."
She's right. I remember buying this top during my junior year, right after acing a major presentation. I felt unstoppable that day.
Like I could have everything I wanted.
"Thanks, Mom."
"Anytime, sweetheart." She heads for the door, then pauses. "Oh, and Bea? It's okay to be scared. But don't let fear make you run from something good just because you're worried it might end badly. That's not protecting yourself. That's just missing out."
After she leaves, I finish getting dressed and catch my reflection in the mirror. I look... good. Put together. Like someone who's excited about this.
And under all the panic, I am. I've been replaying yesterday with Grayson. How River kissed me in the hardware store. How Seth looked at me over lunch like I mattered.
I'm falling for them. All three of them.
I'm finishing my makeup when there's another knock.
"Come in!"
The door opens to reveal all three of my parents crowded in the doorway like they're staging some kind of intervention.
"We're not being weird," Papa announces.
"You're absolutely being weird," I counter, but I'm smiling.
Dad clears his throat. "We just wanted to say... we're proud of you, Bea-bee."
My throat tightens at the childhood nickname. "For going on a date?"
"For being you," Mom says simply. "For being our daughter."
"You've been smiling more this past week," Papa adds, his voice soft. "We've missed seeing you happy."
"We just want you happy, sweetheart," Dad says. "Whatever that looks like. Alphas, no alphas, marketing empire, living in our basement until you're forty—we don't care. We just love you."
"For wearing pants to a fancy dinner," Papa adds with a grin. "That's our girl."
"Papa!"
"What? I'm proud! You're not trying to be someone you're not just to impress some alphas."
"They already know I'm a disaster," I point out. "There's no point in false advertising now."
Ben appears behind our parents, somehow managing to squeeze into the doorway. How is my entire family in my bedroom right now?
"You look nice," he says, then immediately ruins it with, "Did you actually shower this time or just use dry shampoo and hope for the best?"
"I showered!"
"Good. Because were living in sweatpants for weeks and I wasn't sure you remembered how real pants worked."
"I hate you."
