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I take a step closer to her, wishing that I could go all the way over to her and pull her back into my arms. “I don’t mind that you’re crying.”
The opposite almost. It feels like a gift. Like something she wouldn’t do in front of just anyone. Like it’s a sign that she trusts me enough to be vulnerable in front of me. That doesn’t feel like a nuisance. It feels like an honor.
Suddenly, I wish more people had cried in front of me. Maybe, then I would know what the right thing to say was. Maybe then I would know how to handle this. How to console her.
“I’m sorry you’re sad.”
My words feel inadequate, and I know it’s the wrong thing to say because something like disgust flickers across her face.
“I’m not sad.”
“Then what?”
“I’m mad.” Before I can agree that she should be mad at her father and brother, she adds, “Mostly at myself, for being so stupid.”
“You’re not stupid.” I think of all the times we talked about one of the grant proposals I was reading. “You’ve been able to discuss nearly every grant proposal I’ve ever discussed with you. You’re obviously highly intelligent.”
“I guess a lot of highly intelligent people are also dumbasses then.”
“You’re not—”
“I should’ve asked my dad. I should’ve talked to him about what his intentions were. If I’d known he would never leave me the restaurant, I would’ve gotten a different job. I would’ve had him write me a recommendation while he was still alive and gone to work at another restaurant. I shouldn’t have assumed Blake would do the right thing when I filed the probate case. Looking back, I was so gullible. So naïve. So stupid.”
“You said you were fourteen when you started working for your father.”
She glances at me, meeting my gaze. “About.”
“You were still a child. It’s not naïve for a child to trust their parent. It’s human nature.”
“But—”
“There is no but. Children love their parents and trust their parents. Even children who are adults trust their parents. And most parents are trustworthy. The emotional strength of the bond between child and parents is the cornerstone of human society. That’s how our species has survived. We are programmed to take care of one another. It’s genetics and biology. It’s woven into our DNA and our biochemistry. The people who betray loved ones are either sociopaths or narcissists. The people who are betrayed are not gullible. They’re victims.”
Surprise flickers over her features and something else as well. Hurt, maybe.
Fuck. I’ve probably gone too far. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve handled a delicate situation badly.
“Wow, that sounds very …” She blows out a breath and then releases a chuckle. “Psychologically accurate.”
Not sure how to respond to that, I go with a safe, “Thank you.”
Which was the wrong answer based on the way her chuckle morphs into a nervous laugh.
“Let me guess, one of those grant proposals you’re always reading analyzed parent/child bonding?”
“No. That’s just what my therapist used to say.”
She blinks, then asks, “You’ve been to therapy?”
The way she says it … not like it’s something to be ashamed of or anything, but just the absolute shock in her voice. I can feel my cheeks heating up as I explain. “After Ava left. Yeah. She was the woman everyone thought I would marry. So when she left …”
I let my words trail off, unsure what to say and suddenly feeling very exposed.
When Ava left me, it shook me. Enough that I upended my life and went to months of therapy. One of the first things I realized in therapy was that my reaction wasn’t about her at all. It was about how unhappy I was with my own choices. Which seems so obvious now. Now that I have Savannah in my life, I see so clearly how little Ava meant to me.
I’m not ashamed that I went to therapy. Clearly, I needed it. But in retrospect, I’m a little embarrassed that it was Ava leaving that caused me to go. Honestly, if I had gone to therapy before I met Ava, I never would’ve dated her.
I have to bite back the urge to say this to Savannah now. It can’t be the right time to say that to her, can it? When we’ve only been together one night. And she still (indirectly) works for me. And we’re in the middle of a messy conversation about her dad’s betrayal.
