This is hard to say. I’m worried that she’s going to tell me the opposite of what I want to hear. “Well, in the way that would make us more than friends.”
She takes this in, then asks, “And is that a good thing?”
“I hope so,” I tell her. “It feels like it could be.”
She makes a humming sound.
“Well?” I ask.
“Well, what?”
“Do you have any words of wisdom for me?”
“Do you want them? Because you never ask me for advice, and I’ve learned not to offer it.”
“I do. I’m trying not to freak out. But this week with George has been…” It’s difficult to describe. “It’s the same as it’s alwaysbeen between us—in all the good ways—but it’s also different. There are feelings there, and it’s incredible and terrifying. It’s George, Mom. It’sGeorge.”
And as I’m saying it, I realize that my mother is completely biased. She adores George.
“You know what? Never mind. You like George more than you like me.”
“Frankie! How could you think that? I love George, but you’re my daughter. I’ve always tried to respect your privacy—people seem to have such an odd level of interest in your friendship. But I assumed when you lived together that things might have beendifferentfor a while.”
“Really?”
“Mm-hmm. It surprised me when George took a job so far away after he graduated—it seemed like he needed to put half the country between you. I thought there might have been a breakup.”
“No. It’s never been like that. It’s never been more.”
She takes that in. “You know, when you got engaged to Nate, I did wonder whether you were marrying the wrong person.”
I’m momentarily stunned. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“You would have eloped the next day!”
“No, I wouldn’t have.” (I absolutely would have.)
She laughs. I’m throwing a lot at her in this conversation, but she’s relaxed. George was right: she’s easy to talk to. The butterflies in my stomach have vanished, leaving behind the gnawing sense that I’ve missed out on so much.
“And,” she goes on. I close my eyes so I can really listen to her voice. “I’ve always wondered whether George might be theright person. You’re radiant when you’re with him. More like yourself. George is, too.”
“How so?”
She thinks about it for a moment. “You’re both so full of energy and ideas, but when you’re together, all that creativity and vitality seems to multiply. You feed off each other in positive ways—you’ve always been partners. Beneath all the fun and excitement is something much firmer.”
I hum.
“I think you give each other a rush but also a foundation you can trust. Together, you’re both the tide and the ocean floor. Constantly moving but stable.”
That feels right. “So you don’t think it’s a terrible idea? Because a big part of me feels like it could be an epic disaster.”
“I can’t predict what will happen, Frankie. That’s one of life’s biggest frustrations and greatest gifts. We can’t know. But I don’t think it’s a terrible idea. I think it’s a wonderful one.”
I take a deep breath. “Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Please don’t say anything to Darwin or Moby.” I’d like to cross that bridge never.
