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“I’m in love with him,” I share with her, my heart feeling like it’s being crushed.
“Then what are you doing here?” she asks, and I shrug.
“I don’t know.” It’s almost a whisper.
“You need to go to him.” She smiles, and I see her own tears in her eyes.
“Isn’t it too soon?” I ask.
“Says who?” she questions me. “Who says it’s too soon?”
“Everyone,” I answer her, and her eyebrows shoot up. “Like three months ago, I was in love with someone else and getting married to him.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “You have a man who loves you and treats you like a queen.”
“I don’t know if he loves me,” I admit. “He just said that he wants me to be there with him to live with him.”
“So go.” She throws up her hands. “Again, what are you doing here?”
“My life is here.” I get up on my elbow. “But I hate it here,” I tell her. “I hate the noise and the crowds. I hate that I can’t go for a walk in the forest, and I hate he’s not here with me.”
“Oh, you silly girl.” She kisses my cheek before getting up and going to her phone and pulling it out of her pocket.
“What are you doing?” I ask, and she ignores me but puts the phone to her ear. “Baby,” she says, and I know she’s speaking to my father, “you can come upstairs now.” My mouth opens, and I hear the front door open and then close. “We’re in the bedroom.” His footsteps are coming up the stairs.
“Was he really downstairs hiding?” I ask my mother, who just shrugs.
“I left like a bat out of hell,” she says. “He wasn’t going to let me come by myself.”
“Hey,” my father says, coming into the room and looking at me, “what’s going on?” He puts his hands on his hips.
“We are going to need your help to pack stuff.” My mother looks over at him, and I watch his eyebrows go up.
“She’s finally moving down there?” he asks my mother, who nods. “It’s about time.”
“What are you talking about?” I sit up and put my feet on the floor.
“Honey, how in the hell did you think this was going to work with you living here and Gabriel living there?”
“Well—” I start to say, but he cuts in.
“You can’t take his children away from him.”
“I wasn’t taking his children away from him. I live here.” My voice rises.
“Yes, but you love it down there,” he tells me, and I gawk at him. “You are so happy there. Every time you come back home, it’s like you turn all depressed and mopey.”
“I do not,” I defend myself. “I just don’t.”
“You don’t want to be here,” my father states, “so go be there.”
“I have clients here, and I have that big deal I’m working with.”
“So come down on those days and then go back. There is no need for you to be here for weeks on end while he’s there.”
“I wasn’t going to just move in with him without him inviting me there.” I get up and fold my arms over my chest.
He comes to me. “Baby, the man has a child. Do you expect him to leave his child there and come to you?”
