“Hello to you too, dear.” She tips up her chin. “Now, what are you two chatting about without me. Ethan, put me down, this is girl talk.”
My dad does what he’s told, settling my mom into a chair next to Jo before leaning in. “Love you, kiddo. Take care of yourself there.”
My heart squeezes. “I will, Dad, thanks.”
My mom and Jo watch him over the phone, and then they lean in.
“Alright, spill,” my mom says.
“Holland is in love with Mallory,” Jo says.
My mom shrieks, and I hold up my hand.
“Don’t be dramatic, Jo. No one said anything about love.”
“Well, he’s well on his way.”
“He’d be a fool not to love you,” my mom says staunchly.
“That’s what I told her. I was asking if she felt the same.” Jo pins me with a look.
My mom’s eyes are wide as she waits for my response.
I close my eyes and think about all the ways Holland has shown up for me the past few weeks. His awareness when we were at his parents’ house. Lending me his sweatshirt. The note at themini-golf date. The way he’s complimented me and my work. Taking care of me when I was sick.
“I think I could be interested in him…like that.” I dive bomb into a pillow. “I don’t know, you guys,” I say, sitting up straight. “Am I being foolish? He’s my boss.”
Jo looks serious. My mom looks elated.
“Work only gets you so far in life. Love is what matters.”
“But you need a roof over your head,” Jo counters. Then she softens. “I don’t want to see you get taken advantage of again.”
My mom frowns. “Are we talking about Brevan?”
Jo nods.
My mom presses her lips together. “If you are going to let that good-for-nothing sandbagger dictate the rest of your life, then you’re letting him take more from you than he ever deserved.”
“Isn’t she right to be cautious?” Jo presses.
I find myself nodding, teetering on the brink of going for it with Holland but still holding onto past pain and worrying about what could happen in the future.
“Being cautious is one thing. Being passive is another.” My mom waves her hand across the screen. “You’ve got to stop waiting in the wings and step out onto the stage of life. It’s time for you to be the heroine in your own story, not the understudy.”
Jo widens her eyes. “Whoa. That’s deep.”
“Seriously.” I nod, and my mind flies to the photo in Holland’s parents’ hallway—the same one on Holland’s shelves—where I’m standing off to the side of the action. I don’t want to be off to the side with Holland. I want to be in the middle of it all.
My mom shrugs. “I may be paraphrasing a Nora Ephron quote. But”—she holds up her finger as I roll my eyes—“the point stands. Besides, none of us is guaranteed a tomorrow. Look at me.”
“Mom!”
“No, you listen. I’m just saying. We don’t know what the future holds. We don’t know if Holland will turn into Brevan 2.0. But we do know that living with regret is no way of living.”
“I don’t think Holland is like Brevan at all,” I say after a second. All I can think about is the look of righteous indignation in his eyes today before he hauled off and punched the scoundrel at the golf course who tried to take advantage of me. That, followed by the look of total and complete care he directed at me in the process. I shiver. All of it was kind of hot, not going to lie. “Besides, it’s just dating, right? I can take it slow.”
“See. There you go. You need to trust your gut. Trust what you know about Holland, and then, dear, some things you have to take a leap of faith on. Could you get hurt again? Sure. But you can’t spend your life living in that place. That place of fear. Because that’s not living at all.”
