Page 14 of The Naughty List
“It’s okay, Mom.”
It’s not really okay, but I tell her that just to make this conversation stop. I don’t want to hear her apology or listen to her try to make this behavior right when it would probably take hours of licensed therapy to make my mother understand the way I feel when I'm around her.
“You like Roger, don’t you?” she asks quietly. My brother on the other side of her is talking to his wife so he doesn't hear our conversation.
“Yeah, Roger is fine, Mom.”
“Are you mad at me for getting married? I notice how you hardly look at me anymore.”
I’m about to tell her that I’m not mad at her when I realize that I think I am. I am mad at her for getting married, for being spontaneous and following her heart while I've been slaving away at a rigorous college program that she wanted for me. I’m mad that she took the confidence and never left any for me. I’m mad that she never taught me to do the things she did for herself.
And I almost don't say any of that, but then I peer down the line and see Grant looking down at me. He told me not to hold my tongue, so I don’t.
But just as I’m about to start speaking, the music begins to play on the stage and we all stand to start singing. My skin is practically crawling. I can’t be here. My whole life is a lie, and I’m not even brave enough to stand up to my own mother. I’m too afraid to follow my own dreams and live my own life.
Mostly I start to feel sick because I know that Grant landing in my life is my gift, and if I don’t take it while I have the chance, I stand to lose more than a real connection. I’ll lose my self-respect, faith in myself, and courage to live.
“I’m not feeling so good,” I mutter.
“What?” she asks, looking at me.
“I want to go home.”
“Are you sure?” she asks.
“Yes, I’ll find my own way, but I have to go. I’m sorry.”
“Oh...okay,” she stammers, and I hug her. I don't know why, but I do. “Do you want me to come with you?” she asks, but I hold my hands up.
“No. Just stay, enjoy the service. I’ll be fine.”
Then, I turn and rush out, down the aisle surrounded by packed pews and it’s not until I’m outside that I can finally breathe. So I just stand near the parking lot and take long even breaths.
A hand lands soft on my back, a heavy, large hand, and I know it’s his before I even turn around. So I bury my face in his shirt. Arms engulf me and I start to cry although I don’t even know why. I feel like a balloon that’s been filled too much, and I’m about to pop.
“I don’t want to go back to Chicago.”
“Okay,” he says carefully. “Is this because of me?”
I shake my head. “No. You just helped me to see why I was so miserable before. I was angry, resentful, jealous. Jealous of my mother, so I chose to stay in school and live a life I hated just to spite her, but I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t want to be in pre-law. I want to be an artist, go to art school, follow my own passions.”
“So, tell her that, Audrey.”
“I can’t,” I cry. “I tried, but the moment passed, and now I don’t know if I’ll get it back.”
“Don’t wait for the moment, Audrey. Just take it. Tell her.”
I look up at him, touching the back of his neck and running my hand through his hair. We don’t kiss and he keeps his hands safely on my arms, but the moment still feels tender. Gazing into each other’s eyes as Silent Night plays loud enough to hear in the parking lot.
“Do you still want me to take you home?” he asks, carefully.
“Yes,” I answer breathlessly. If this is truly my last night with Grant, I want everything. I want to fill my memory with as much of him as I can.
His head hangs forward as he kisses me, and the moment our lips touch, those three little words ring out through my mind. I love him.
It may seem crazy and I know it’s fast, but everywhere I turned all weekend, he was there, and every time my eyes landed on his face, I was filled with warmth. There are a million reasons why I should be with Grant and none why I shouldn’t.
The kiss deepens, and I pull away panting. “Take me home.”