“Good. Definitely good.” I lean back, trying to create some distance. “Or when you bite your lip when you're concentrating. You probably don't even realize you do it, but it's distracting as hell.”
“I bite my lip?”
“All the time. DuringLove Island, when you're analyzing someone's body language. When you're reading contracts.” I take another sip of coffee. “Trust me, guys will notice.”
She's staring at me now with an expression I can't quite read, her notebook forgotten in her lap.
“The most important thing is to remember who you are,” I continue, forcing myself back on track. “Don't try to be someone else.”
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “I know this is probably weird, asking you to teach me how to touch other people.”
“It's not weird.” I lean forward, making sure she's looking at me. “You're just being strategic about something you want. That's very you.”
“But you probably think I should just be myself, and if a guy doesn't like it, then forget him.”
“I think you should absolutely be yourself. But there's nothing wrong with wanting to put your best foot forward.” I gesture at her notebook. “This is just confidence building. You already have everything you need, and we're just making sure you know how to use it.”
seventeen
. . .
Stella
The Beverly Hillsspa feels like stepping into a cloud made of eucalyptus and expensive skincare products. My mother practically floats through the reception area in her perfectly coordinated athleisure outfit, already chatting with the hostess about which treatments will be “absolutely divine” for mother-daughter bonding.
“This is exactly what we needed,” she says, linking her arm through mine as we're led to the relaxation lounge. “Some proper girl time without any distractions.”
By distractions, she means Brandon, who's probably sprawled across his couch right now with a baseball game on in the background, his phone propped up for one of his marathon FaceTime calls with his family. He's blissfully unaware that he's about to become the primary topic of conversation for the next four hours.
We settle into plush robes with cucumber water and wait for our first treatment, and I can practically see my mother's mental checklist forming as we settle into the zero gravity relaxation chairs.
“So,” she begins, and I brace myself. “Brandon seems absolutely smitten with you. The way he was looking at you at dinner, touching your hand, making sure you were comfortable.”
“Mama, we've only been dating a few weeks.”
“Honey, when you know, you know. And that boy knows.” She takes a delicate sip of her cucumber water. “The question is, do you know? Because a man like Brandon isn't going to wait around forever while you figure out your feelings.”
There it is. The subtle pressure wrapped in maternal concern that's been my constant companion since I was old enough to date.
“I care about him a lot,” I say carefully, which isn't even a lie. “But I'm not ready to start planning our future after a few weeks.”
“Haven't you been hanging out longer than that, though?” Her voice takes on that gentle but firm tone I remember from childhood lectures about proper behavior. “A strong foundation of friendship makes the best marriages.”
“Marriage?” The word comes out higher than I intended.
“Well, not immediately, of course. But Stella, you're twenty-five. You can't just date for fun forever. At some point, you need to think about building a life with someone.”
I feel that familiar tightness in my chest, the same feeling I get whenever she starts talking about timelines and life plans like they're train schedules I'm already running late for.
“What if I'm not ready to build a life with anyone? What if I want to focus on my career for a few more years?”
“Your career is lovely, sugar, but it's not going to keep you warm at night, give you children, or take care of you when you're older.” She reaches over and pats my hand. “Besides, Brandon seems very understanding about your work.”
“What if I don't want children?” The words slip out before I can stop them, and my mother's face goes through a series ofexpressions that would be comical if they weren't so telling. It's not that I don't want children. I might. I'm trying to make a point here, though.
“What do you mean you don't want children? Of course you want children. Every woman wants children.”
“Not every woman, Mama. Some women are perfectly happy focusing on their careers, their relationships, their own lives without adding children to the mix.”
