“Yes, but it was more than that, and you know it as well as I do. How many selfies have you taken this year? How many of them did you post on social media?” She paused for a moment with her eyebrows raised, and Megan dropped her gaze to the cutting board.
“Not many.”
“You’re hiding, and from what, Meg? Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately, I mean,reallylooked?”
“I see myself every day.” She felt the hot press of tears and behind it, a blinding surge of anger. “Those scars will always be there, and now they’re the first thing people notice when they meet me. They cringe, Mom, like they can’t bear to look at me.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Her mom took the knife from Megan’s hands and pulled her in for another hug. “I’m sorry, so sorry.”
Megan straightened, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand before she resumed cutting vegetables.
“How often does that actually happen?” her mom asked. “Because although I want to bitch-slap anyone who would ever cringe at the sight of my beautiful baby girl, I think maybe your scars are more noticeable to you than they are to anyone else.”
“It happens.” Megan thought of the man from her portrait session last week. “Not as often as it used to, but it still happens.”
Her mom pulled out her cell phone. “Smile.” She lifted the phone and snapped a photo, then turned it around to show Megan. “Fluorescent lights are unforgiving. We all look like crap in front of the bathroom mirror. But look at yourself the way I see you, Meg. Unless the sun hits it just so, I hardly notice it.”
Megan looked at the photo on her mom’s phone. She’d shied away from photos of herself this year, afraid of what she would see. And what she saw now was a tired, glum version of herself with barely-visible scarring along the left side of her face. “It’s too dark in your kitchen to really see them.”
Her mom rested a hand on Megan’s arm. “I hate more than anything in the world that you have to live with these scars. It’s horribly unfair, and if I could do anything to change it for you, I would. I’ve cried and cried since your accident. Your father and I both have.”
Megan looked away, her vision blurring behind a sheen of tears.
“But the thing I hate most is the way it’s changed you inside.”
“Mom…” she whispered.
“Now, tell me about what happened with Jake.”
“I just…” She took a deep breath, trying to make sense of the emotions churning in her chest. “His wife was perfect, Mom. Jake even said so himself. She was just this beautiful, sweet, perfect person, and they loved each other so much. How can I ever compete with that?”
“Oh, sweetie, it’s not a competition.”
“I know.” She looked down at the pile of half-chopped vegetables in front of her. “But, if I’m comparing myself to Alana, surely he is too. What if I’m just a way out of his loneliness and grief? What if we’re just helping each other hide from our scars?”
“Has he ever given you any reason to think he’s comparing you to his wife, or that he finds you anything less than perfect too?”
“No,” she whispered, staring at the carrot her mom had put on the cutting board.
“Is it possible that this is all in your head? That maybe you overreacted based on your own insecurities and pushed him away because you got scared?”
“Maybe,” Megan conceded after she’d stared at the carrot so long it had turned into an orange blur before her eyes. “Probably.”
“Then as much as I love having you here, you need to go back to Virginia and sort this out. Because you and Jake love each other, and that’s not something you walk away from without making sure you’ve done everything you can to try to save it.”
“But what if I can’t get past this, Mom?” Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. “I don’t know how to be the woman he deserves.”
“Well, that part’s easy. Just be yourself. Be honest with him, let him help you, let him love you, just like you’ve done for him.”
