But we haven’t had those conversations again, as people who have both experienced massive perspective shifts since then.
I’m just not quite sure what to say.
“I don’t know what to do with that,” I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
Her brows knit. “What do you mean?”
I wrap my hands around the edge of the counter, grounding myself. “I’m not sure how to explain it.”
“Try it out. It’s just us here.”
“Aiden is the type of man who always has a solution. And if he doesn’t, he’ll search for it. Especially for us.” I swallow. “Part of it is who he is, because we’re wired in similar ways, but it’s also because he loves us. I know that. I just don’t know what keeps it real.”
She doesn’t interrupt.
“Somewhere along the way, I learned to equate love with being useful. Holding things together. Not asking for too much,”I continue quietly. “I earned a gold star for doing the right things, so that made me more lovable.”
Her mouth presses into a thin line, but she lets me keep going.
“When Aiden and I broke up the first time, I told myself it was because I pushed too hard for a future he wasn’t ready for. I stopped fitting into the picture of his life.” She opens her mouth, and I shake my head. I have to get the words out. “When Trevor left, I realized it was because the minute I got pregnant, I stopped being the wife he wanted. I was suddenly a mother.”
She steps closer, resting her hand over mine, urging me forward.
“What happens when we get through this season?” I ask. Not what happens when our contract ends—because she doesn’t know about that. But the question is still the same. “When there’s no crisis, no busyness, no reason?” My voice wobbles, just slightly. “What makes love stay? How do you keep it, Mom?”
A tear slides down her cheek, and she quickly wipes it away.
“Chloe,” she says, “love isn’t conditional. It breaks my heart that you learned that, but honey, it’s a lie. Love doesn’t stay because it’s needed. You keep it because youchoose it. Over and over. Even when it’s not loud and showy. Even when it’s inconvenient and messy. Especially then.”
I nod, but my chest still aches. “I’ve never been very good at trusting the quiet.”
“I know,” she says softly. “You learned early on that quiet meant something was about to fall apart, and we didn’t always prove you wrong. But this?” She nods toward the living room. “That’s not quiet before a storm. Don’t trust that feeling. That’speace,and you’ve earned that sweet girl. I just think it’s still early enough that you don’t know what to do with that yet.”
I exhale, the truth of it settling heavy and uncomfortable.
“I don’t want to mess this up,” I whisper. “My whole heart is sitting in that living room.”
“You won’t,” she says firmly. “Not when you’re learning the right questions to ask. Or when you’re trying to figure out which truths are actually lies. You’ll learn to trust the difference.”
In the living room, Phoebe sighs in her sleep and rolls into Aiden’s side. He adjusts without looking, like this is something that happens every day.
It doesn’t. At least not for me.
Somehow, we’ve already fought our way through a lot of hard work, and we’re creating something here. A rhythm, and a life.
I lean forward and hug my mom, letting her squeeze me tight. Then I walk into the living room and do something I never allow myself to do.
I slip onto the couch beside Aiden, folding myself into his other side and letting myself breathe. I let the moment sit, and curl up inside my chest.
You keep love because you choose to.
We’ve chosen each other. He even said it out loud, in front of my family.
But, if choosing were enough, why do I still feel like there’s a shoe waiting to drop?
thirty-eight
CHLOE
