Mom sighs happily.
Emily even drops her usual sarcasm. “That sounds really nice.” But then she clears her throat. “So why aren’t we meeting her tonight then?”
I groan, and it’s full of self-loathing. “Because I ruined it all.”
I tell them that part too, finishing the tale right as the food arrives.
“This looks delicious,” Mom says of the risotto, but she doesn’t pick up her fork to take a bite. Instead, she turns her gaze back to me, her eyes thoughtful. “It sounds like youarestuck in the past, though, Banks.”
I flinch. “Why do you say that?”
“So you fell for a client. I get that you want to be professional, but you’re not the first person to fall for a client or an employee, and you won’t be the last. But you’re beating yourself up because you still think it’s somehow your fault that your father lied about his second family. But it’s not.”
Way to be direct.
Ripley said the same thing the other week. Did I believe her? I tried, but maybe I didn’t fully accept it.
Emily’s gaze softens too. “It’s definitely not your fault, Banks. It’s Dad’s.”
“But…” I begin, but the objection dies. What am I even protesting? I’m not entirely sure.
Mom deals me a tough-love stare. “You think you don’t deserve nice things because you’ve held on to this belief that you have to protect me, and Emily, and any woman in your path at all costs since youthinkyou could have protected me from him,” she says with a strength of character that comes from her own resilience, from the way she picked up the pieces and moved on. “But you couldn’t. He did what he did, and he was theonlyone to blame.”
Like Ripley said.
And dammit, it’s high time I believe it. Maybe belief is a choice. A line in the sand. A before and after.
Right now, I can choose to believe that I wasn’t responsible.
And I will.
I feel decades lighter. Something I held on to for years is loosening its grip on me. But what aboutmymistakes over the last few weeks? “I am to blame for my own actions though.”
Mom shrugs like that’s not a big deal. “Fine. Maybe you should have stepped away from the job sooner. But you didn’t. Is it such a crime? And did you actually fail to protect Ripley when you worked with her? As far as I can tell, not a hair on her or her sister’s head was harmed.” She holds up her forefinger. “You lost one potential client, and that’s too bad. But maybe the bigger question is this—is she worth it?”
“Worth losing a client over?”
“Yes,” Emily says, seeming exasperated.
It takes nothing to answer from my whole heart. “Yes. She is.”
Mom smiles. “Then let go of the past and move into your future. You’re worth it, and it sure as hell sounds like she is.”
Emily’s eyes pop. “Mom! Language!”
Mom points her fork at me. “Well, someone was being stubborn, so I had no choice. Now stop being a perfectionist and start moving past your mistakes.”
“And start tonight,” Emily adds.
“I will.” As we formulate a plan, I dig into my pasta, and it’s the best meal I’ve had in ages.
48
MIDNIGHT PICNIC
RIPLEY
In the cottage bathroom, I set the lotion on the counter, not even remotely lined up with my toothpaste. I get to be chaotic again. I can leave things where I want them. I can clean coffee cups in the afternoon instead of the morning.
