But she had been doing so much of it lately.
Campaigning for office and fighting. Finding ways to be herself in public and not feel she had to put on such a show.
But this felt like a bridge too far. It felt like too much. Like too big an ask.
What should she have done? Looked him right in the eye while he was telling her he didn’t want her around and tell him that she was in love with him? That it wasn’t a show for her. That it was real. That it was everything.
She had stopped herself from admitting it before because she hadn’t been sure of what she wanted.
She knew the answer now. She wanted him. However that looked.
She had never really thought much about getting married. Having children. She hadn’t imagined her future taking the shape of anything so traditional.
She had worried, when she ever did think about marriage, that she might be bad at it.
But she had been finding her way with Flynn, hadn’t she?
She didn’t just have to be a reaction to her parents—she could be her own person. She could be the woman she had become. She could shape herself around him, just as he would with her if …
If he loved her. But he didn’t.
Or maybe he needed her to say it first.
And that brought her back to the fact that she was just too afraid to reveal her feelings.
Because she had been rejected already. She knew what it was like to want something, to know it was out of reach.
Why did she have to open herself to rejection again?
She thought about his family.
His father was dead, his mother didn’t want him. He didn’t have love. And she did.
She hadn’t been lying to him when she had said that Michael’s harsh words had given her something to think about.
Because her own parents were different, and they had done things that had messed her up, but they did love her. And she would rather have that than a seemingly normal family that disdained her.
She put her truck in reverse, and she found herself driving toward her parents’ home. More specifically, straight to her mother’s archival trailer, where she housed all her collections.
There was a light on in the living room, and she could see Lucinda standing in front of the bookcase, shuffling things around.
She got out of the truck, walked up to the door, and knocked.
It took a moment, but Mom came to the door and opened it. “Jessie.”
If she was surprised, her tone didn’t betray it.
“I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Sure.”
She stood away from the door and gestured for Jessie to come inside.
She did, and as her mother closed the door, Jessie looked around the space. It was filled with curiosities. Display cases with spurs, crystals hanging from the ceiling in front of the windows; she knew that during the day when the sun came, the whole trailer sparkled. There were potted plants everywhere—the place awash in greenery. Books and little origami figures. Little things everywhere.
She suddenly remembered what Dad had said about Mom. About how easy it was to give her what she wanted. Jessie suddenly thought all this was beautiful. Because these things were little pieces of her mother’s heart, on display for everyone to see. It made it a lot easier to know her than Jessie had realized. She felt a momentarysurge of gratitude, especially in light of what had just happened with Flynn’s brother.
“I wanted to ask you about … Dad. And I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”
