Текст книги "She: Part 2"

Автор книги: Annabel Fanning

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

“Enlighten me then, you sanctimonious piece of shit,” Taylor spits in his face.

“You are a leech,” Logan says, pushing him harder into the wall. “You suck the happiness out of every room you walk into. You’re too jealous and insecure to be around people who feel good about themselves and so you always, always, always bring them down. And you know it, Taylor. You take pleasure in it, you feed off of it. But it doesn’t work on me anymore, and that’s why you can’t stand me. I don’t let you make me feel bad, I can see straight through you, which only makes you hate me more. There’s a constant anger inside of you, and it’s destroying you. Slowly, sadly it’s ruining your life. You’ve got to let it go, you’ve got to let it go,” he says, almost imploringly, as he himself lets his bother go.

Taylor shirks his arms away from Logan and both brothers huff, their chests heaving. Taylor has no response. He cannot deny what is clear as day.

“I used to feel sorry for having a hand in turning you sour,” Logan continues, “but now it’s all on you. I hope that you become a better man for the sake of your daughter and your wife. I hope that you get over it, but until you do, we are no longer brothers,” Logan repeats, taking several steps backwards, his physical movement mirroring something much larger. He’s cutting the tie to his brother. For good? I can’t work that out right now, all I can fathom is the poignant look on Logan’s face, and the stab of guilt that I feel inside. I should’ve walked away, I think once more.

After a long silence, Logan tells Taylor, “I’ll thank you to leave this party, because I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you ruin it for anyone else.”

Taylor’s face is too impassive for me to tell how he’s feeling. Shocked, probably, that after all this time he’s finally pushed Logan too far. Embarrassed, I hope, for acting the way he has done. And sorry, I expect, for speaking to me in the manner he did. But he shows none of these things, and remains impassive and un-remorseful when he finally tears his eyes off of Logan and says, “Karen, let’s go—”

“I’m staying,” Karen sobs. Hearing the tone in her voice, Logan and I both turn to look at her and she bursts into tears.

I feel utterly terrible. I’m drawn to her like a moth to a flame, and I wrap my arms around her in the best show of comfort that I can offer.

“You’ve humiliated me, Taylor!” she yells at her husband. “How dare you behave like this. How would you feel if someone spoke to our daughter the way you spoke to Gemima?” she shrieks at him.

“I’d beat the living daylights out of him,” Taylor responds quickly.

“It’s tempting, believe me,” Logan says.

“Abby and I are staying here,” Karen tells Taylor, “you can go without us, and figure out how you’re going to make this better.”

Without a word of apology to me or Logan or his wife, Taylor turns and leaves, and the three of us remain motionless, completely stunned.

It’s the most uncomfortable moment of my life, hands down. It puts every slip of verbal diarrhoea that I’ve ever had into perspective, because this isn’t just an embarrassing slip of the tongue, this actually means something – a brother is as good as banished and his wife is left in tears.

I can’t hold back my guilt any longer. “I’m so sorry,” I tell Karen and Logan earnestly. “I shouldn’t have let him get to me like that—”

“Don’t,” Logan says sternly, watching Taylor leave. He turns his head and his eyes meet mine and they soften instantly, as does his voice. “Baby, please don’t,” he says, stepping towards us and wrapping his arms around us both. “This is all Taylor.”

“I hate to gang up on my own husband,” Karen sniffs and wipes away her tears, “but Logan’s right,” she says to me. “I think he really needed this,” she then says to him. “He needed to be told that enough’s enough. I’m just so sorry that he said those things, Gemima. He doesn’t really think that of you, I promise.”

“Is that how he speaks to you, Karen?” Logan asks her seriously.

“No,” she cries, fresh tears appearing instantly. “That’s why I don’t understand him when he acts like this. At home he’s kind, and he’s brilliant with our daughter, and he would never speak to a woman so disrespectfully,” she wails, burying her face in her hands, her humiliation overcoming her.

Logan considers this for a moment, before he comes to his conclusion, “Taylor knows he can’t get under my skin, so he changed tact and went for you instead.”

“I’m sorry,” I mutter again.

“Don’t be,” he reiterates. “It’s telling of his character, not yours,” he says, before kissing my forehead.

“Whatever reason he gives is inexcusable,” Karen presses. She’s right, it is.

“I’m sorry he spoke to you like that,” Logan says to me quietly, meaningfully. He leans his head down and gently kisses my lips, his eyes pouring into mine the whole time.

I release one of my arms from around Karen and instead cup Logan’s face. “I’m sorry you lost a brother,” I reply.

He shakes his head, telling me, “I think I lost him a long time ago, I just didn’t accept that until now.”

Karen sniffs again and pulls out of our group hug. She takes a few steps away from us, leaving Logan and I huddled together, as she inhales several deep breaths and wipes her eyes once more. The makeup around her eyes is smudged and lopsided. “Maybe this is a good thing,” she mumbles, and I can tell that she’s trying to convince herself as much as us. “This is new territory for him. Maybe it’s exactly what was needed to make him change,” she muses.

Maybe, I think, or maybe it won’t change a damn stubborn bone in Taylor’s body. What it has changed is Logan’s life. He’s, at last, freed himself of the weight that his younger brother was on him, and he didn’t have to compromise himself to do it.

Looking up at him, I confess, “I’m glad you didn’t hit him.”

He gives me a half-smile, pleased that he’s pleased me. But underneath that smile, he’s hurting, I know he is. Disappointment must be seeping through him. Disowning his own brother is not what Logan hoped their relationship would come to, but Taylor’s let him down one too many times.

“Fights may be fought and won with violence, but violence never brings true resolution,” he says maturely. “It was time to end this properly and only clear communication can do that. I think I made myself pretty clear,” he sighs, and I nod in response. “I find words are more powerful, more decisive, more resolving,” he tells me, and pride swells in me for the millionth time tonight. He’s not interested in the drama of the fallout, he’s only interested in peace. Probably, I tell myself, because he knows more than most what it’s like to live out-of-peace with himself. He knows the depths of the darkness, and he’s not going to let anyone, not even his own kin, take him back there. His strength awes me; it’s inspiring to see someone make the right decision, even if that decision is difficult.

“Besides,” Logan leans closer, “I remember you telling me that I was worthy of you, and I promised you that I would try to always remain so,” he whispers against my lips. “I want to be worthy, especially now that we’re engaged,” he smiles a little more sincerely.

“Congratulations, by the way,” Karen pipes up. We both turn to look at her, and she continues, saying to me, “I’m so happy for you, I just…I hope Taylor’s actions won’t mar any chance of us getting to know each other better.”

“They won’t,” I promise her quickly. “You nor Abigail are accountable for him, and I’m really looking forward to spending more time with both of you, Karen,” I say, meaning every word.

“Good, I’m glad,” she nods. “When’s the big day?”

“This summer,” Logan and I say together.

“And your parents, do they know?” she wonders.

“Not yet,” Logan shakes his head. “We wanted to keep it to ourselves for a little while; it just sort of slipped out earlier.”

“I won’t breathe a word,” Karen assures us. “Now,” she sniffs for a final time, “let’s not stand here moping for the rest of the night. Let’s get a drink and toast to your good news…oh, unless you’re, uh—”

“Not pregnant,” we speak as one again.

“Drinks it is then,” Karen decides on behalf of us all, and neither Logan nor I object.

* * *

It takes half an hour, three shots of whiskey apiece, and several random outbursts of uncontrollable swearing for each of us to really relax back into the mood of the evening. Our parents can’t be spotted from our position near the bar, and looking around the many frivolities it’s clear that no one outside of the family is in the know about what transpired. That’s something, at least, I tell myself. Taylor may have put a dent in our evening, but everyone else seems to be having a wonderful time.

Soon, I feel the whiskey kicking in, making me feel giddy, chirpy, and considerably more drunk than I was standing in the corridor. I take Logan’s hand and link arms with Karen as we leave our station at the bar, and immerse back into the crowded room in search of a fun and much needed distraction, and it doesn’t take us long to find one.

Near the stage, where the tables were cleared for dancing, we find a third of the people in the room standing in a huge circle with a spotlight dance floor in the middle of them. The crowd cheers and laughs and whoops at their entertainment and edging closer, I spy Buddy and Abigail in the centre of them all, dancing up a storm. He’s clearly done a fantastic job distracting her.

As soon as Abigail spots us, she runs towards Logan and lures him into the centre of attention too. He goes with her willingly, and the pair of them meet up with Buddy in the middle.

Karen can’t stop herself from laughing. It’s a giggly laugh that makes me think that she’s feeling as tipsy as I am. “They look like a couple dancing with their daughter,” she says.

I laugh out loud too, nodding my agreement. A few more people join them and as soon as Abby releases Logan’s hand he makes a beeline for me. I assume he’s coming to be a bystander once more, but he’s got other plans, taking my hand and pulling me onto the floor.

“I like dancing with you much more than I’ve ever let on,” he tells me.

I grin back at him as I slip effortlessly into his arms, and everyone in our vicinity disappears from my focus. I like being back in our bubble, though if tonight’s taught me anything it’s that we can’t always stay here. There will be things throughout our life together that knock us out of it, but I revel in knowing that we can always come back to it. It’s a choice, I think, one that I hope I’ll always continue to make.

“There’s something I want to ask you about our wedding,” Logan tells me.

“Alright,” I smile at him.

“I know there will be a lot of things to organise,” he says correctly, “but there’s something I want to organise by myself.”

Just one thing, I think. “I don’t want to do everything else alone.”

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “We can do everything together, there’s just one thing that I want to do without you, to surprise you,” he explains, before amending, “Two things. No, actually there’s three.”

I smile at him again as we continue to languidly dance. “And they are?” I wonder.

“Our wedding song,” he says, and it’s clear that our current movements are what reminded him to ask me, “our honeymoon, and the destination of the ceremony.”

Hmm…

“Well, obviously you’ll be choosing an N*Sync number for our first dance,” I tease, “and our honeymoon will most likely be an extended stay at Beaux Rêves,” I assume, “so because I already know those ones, you can have them,” I say with a laugh. “The destination of the ceremony ties into too many other things though. It’ll say on the invitations, so everyone else will know except for me.”

“Not necessarily. I’d just get everyone to meet at one location and then bus them to the actual ceremony site.”

“Oh…” That’s genius!

However, taking my response as resistance, Logan concedes, “OK, I’ll keep the song and the honeymoon a secret. Your guesses are nowhere near correct, baby,” he chuckles. “And I’ll let you in on the location…soon,” he teases me back.

“You have somewhere in mind, then?”

He nods. “Somewhere that I think you’ll love.”

“Intriguing,” I say, before my attention is drawn to Karen and Abigail dancing nearby and a sudden, strange sadness overcomes me as I wonder if Taylor will let his wife and daughter come to our wedding. That would be yet another way for him to try and punish Logan. Not to mention, it would probably break Mary-Gene’s and Rupert’s heart.

Unbeknownst to them, this evening has resulted in their sons disbanding, and because of that, a creeping seed of guilt floats into my mind once more. There’s no point in chiding myself by continually thinking I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I can’t change that now, but I can do something else. So, let’s look at this logically, Gem…if I had’ve kept my mouth shut earlier tonight, what then?

Well, Logan might not have disowned his brother, but the animosity between them would continue to grow, and fester, and spoil. I surprise myself when feelings of gratitude course through me that the events of this evening ended in the way they did, because I don’t want Logan to be part of a relationship that toxic, and I don’t have to feel guilty for playing any part in stopping it.

Good, I think, feeling a little more at ease now that I’ve come to this conclusion. But even though my spat with Taylor may now feel justified to me, how Logan’s parents are going to think about it is still a concern. I’ve been concerned for no reason once before though, I note, remembering the conversation that Logan and I had about me worrying his parents would think I’m a bad influence after his fight with Jerry. This memory distracts me momentarily…

“I never got to ask you what Jerry was doing here.”

“Apologising,” Logan says.

“What’s he done now?” I blurt out.

Logan grins at my assumption. “He was apologising for ambushing you at work. I think he wanted to clear the air in case I ever decided to reciprocate the gesture. I told him I’d pass his sentiments along…so, sorry, from Jerry.”

Musing out loud, I tell him, “I never imagined I’d have the misfortune to dislike someone more than Jerry, but your brother is a big—”

We’re set upon by Abigail at that exact moment as she circles around legs and I just manage not to educate her in expletives.

“A big meanie,” I say instead, my choice of word making Logan laugh heartily. Once she’s circled us a few times, she disappears once more, and I finally ask Logan, “Uh, how do you think your parents will react about you disowning Taylor?”

“I doubt they’ll be surprised. It’s been a long time coming,” he says, matter-of-factly. “They know Tay’s an asshole, even if they can’t use those exact words.” Considering things a little more, he reveals, “They’ll be upset and disappointed, but for the most part I think they’ll be concerned about you.”

Oh, shit! “What about me?” I ask hurriedly. Are they going to blame me?

“I saw the looks on their faces when Taylor was harassing you – they were mortified by the things that he said; they looked so ashamed of him. I think they’re probably hiding somewhere,” he throws a quick glance around us, “feeling incredibly embarrassed, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve spent the last forty minutes profusely apologising to your mom on Taylor’s behalf.”

So I’m concerned about them, and Logan presumes that they’re concerned about me. This is all still Taylor’s influence, I think, irritatedly; we shouldn’t be giving him the satisfaction! I feel an abrupt burning desire to do something to end his hold over our evening. Take back the night, I think dramatically.

“We should tell our parents,” I say, making the decision out of the blue.

“Tell them what?”

“That we’re getting married,” I smile at him, getting giddy at the thought. “If anything will put a smile on MG’s face, it’s that.”

Logan beams back at me. “You might want to brace yourself for more than a smile,” he warns me. “What about your mom? Have you had enough time to talk to her like you wanted to?”

I reach up on my tiptoes until my lips are less than an inch from Logan’s. “Sometimes you just gotta bite the bullet,” I whisper.

I can’t say with certainty if it’s my fuck-you-Taylor attitude, or the increased level of alcohol running through my system, or my unwavering confidence in our relationship that has made me so gung-ho about sharing our news, but whatever the reason I’m convinced that now is the right time – it will change the mood of the evening for the better. I hope.

“Alright,” Logan smiles against my lips, his eyes full of playfulness and excitement.

Unable to resist him looking this gorgeous, I kiss him eagerly for a few long moments, before we leave the dance floor in search of our parents, whispering back and forth the entire time, deciding what exactly we should say. In between Logan’s serious, grownup suggestions, I throw in a couple of inappropriate ones which cause us both to laugh like naughty schoolchildren, and which certifies in my mind that my level of inebriation is now one step up from tipsy.

When I spot the three of them sitting together at a table in the middle of the room, I stop in my tracks, swaying on my high heels, nerves overcoming me. Our parents are talking quietly amongst themselves, each of them looking austere and so…so authoritative. I need to be firing on all cylinders for this and right now I don’t feel like I am. For the second time tonight I detour off my path, pulling Logan behind me. We’re only going to get one shot at this, I want to do it properly, so at the bar I guzzle a glass of water, sobering myself up as much as I can. This is too important to respond to any of my mother’s questions with a shrug and a drunken giggle. No one’s going to feel better if I can’t conduct myself with conviction.

Ten minutes later, when I feel a little more like myself, our mission resumes and this time, despite the butterflies in my stomach, I have no desires to detour.

Mary-Gene and Rupert are just as worked up about Taylor’s behaviour as Logan told me they would be.

“Gemima, I am appalled that he said those things to you,” Mary-Gene says the second we’re in earshot.

I’m about to say it’s OK, but I stop myself. It’s not OK, not by a long shot, but what I can say sincerely is, “I know you didn’t raise him to speak like that. Don’t feel bad about it.”

“We’re so sorry, darlin’,” Rupert says, the look of concern on his face very similar to Logan’s.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” I tell them, impressing the point. “Are you good?” I gesture between the three of them, wondering if my mom has been giving them hell in place of their son.

“I haven’t gone apeshit on them if that’s what you’re subtly trying to ask,” she says, knowing me too well.

“Alright,” I mutter. I look at Logan. “We should tell them about Taylor first,” I whisper. Get the bad news out of the way.

“I have, uh, ended my relationship with my brother,” Logan announces, and I have to admit the lack of reaction his words receive is startling.

“We already know,” Mary-Gene then tells us.

“How?” Logan asks. “Have you spoken to Karen?”

“No,” Rupert shakes his head, “but Taylor messaged your mother about half an hour ago. He told us in some colourful language what transpired between you.”

Hold up, I think, if he told him them about that, did he also tell them…

Surmising the same as me, Logan asks, “Do you already know what else we want to tell you?”

The three of them exchange a weighted look. Oh my god, they so know!

“Well, if you’re referring to you two deciding to get married,” my mom pipes up, “then yes, we do know that.”

Shit, fucking, shit!

Making a decision on the spot, Logan says, “Taylor shouldn’t get to take this moment away from us. So, forget you know,” he tells our parents.

Uh…

Mary-Gene nods enthusiastically, going along with the game; my mother rolls her eyes at the theatre of it; and Rupert, the realist, says, “That’s a little hard—”

Ignoring his father, he continues, “Mom, dad, Barbara-Ann, two nights ago I proposed to Gemima, and she said yes.”

“Multiple times,” I interject, grinning up at him.

Logan smiles back at me, before looking at our parents once more. “We’re in love, and we’re getting married,” he says simply.

Mary-Gene is sitting on her hands, and I have the feeling that if she weren’t she’d burst into applause. She’s onboard, that couldn’t be any more obvious. One down, two to go, I think.

To say my mom and Rupert look unconvinced would be an understatement.

“We would like to speak to Logan alone, and your mother would like to talk to you,” Rupert announces unexpectedly.

Alarm bells start ringing in my head. What are we, teenagers?

Logan looks at them suspiciously too. “Divide and conquer?” he asks.

I suddenly gasp – he’s right, it’s a test! “They’re trying to see how firmly we stand united,” I mutter to him, getting carried away.

Logan shakes his head at his parents. “So sneaky,” he comments.

My mother rolls her eyes again. Not the most assuring sign of support, I admit to myself.

“It is not a test. I want to ask you a few questions, and I’m pretty sure that you don’t want me to ask them here,” she says, trying to frighten me.

She’s bluffing. “You can ask whatever you like,” I say confidently.

An almost gleeful look comes over her face. Oh, shit! She is bluffing, isn’t she? I brace myself.

“You might want to ignore this tirade,” my mom says to Logan, before she bombards me, “What’s his favourite colour? What’s his medical history? How much debt has he acquired? Do you know his income? Does he know yours? What’s his favourite cuisine?” she goes off on another tangent. “Where’s his favourite restaurant? Have you met all of his friends? What do they say about him? Have you seen him at work? How he treats his employees is a real insight into his character,” she says pointedly, forgetting entirely that she’s seen Logan with his employees ample times tonight and he’s been nothing but gracious.

“Mom…” I try and stop her.

“Has he ever had cosmetic surgery?” she continues. “What’s he like to be around under pressure? What’s his biggest fear? Is he claustrophobic?”

OK, this is getting embarrassing. “Mom, stop!”

“What’s his favourite drink? Does he prefer tea or coffee? What’s his favourite type of candy?”

“Sherbet,” Logan and I say together before bursting into immature giggles. And if for a moment we thought that my mother wouldn’t read between the lines, her next question shows that she knows exactly what we’re laughing about.

“How are the two of you when you’re not glued at the hips?” she says.

Glued? Eww! I grimace at the word.

Logan clears his throat. “That’s quite an extensive list of questions, some of which we have already discussed.”

“Some?” she shoots back quickly. I can tell that she’s getting stressed and it’s coming across in a really zany way.

“Most,” he amends, and that silences her, at least for a minute. “I’ve loved your daughter for a long time, Barbara-Anne. Whether others think we’re idealistic, naive or ignorant fails to matter. Gemima and I think being in love and wanting to be together is what matters the most.”

“But can’t you wait a year?” Rupert asks us, and though it’s a perfectly reasonable question both Logan and I look at him as if he’s said something ludicrous.

“No,” we say together.

“Logan, please don’t take this the wrong way,” my mom begins and I feel myself tense on the spot, “but you’re so charming that I suspect you could convince a baboon to sing the alphabet,” she tells him.

Huh?

“I want to talk to my daughter,” she continues, getting more stressed and more zany. I don’t know why, though. She likes him, I know she does. What’s more, she knows how much I love him, so why is she protesting this much? Is it just maternal instinct, or is there more to it? “It’s been less than four weeks for you, Gemima. I knew your father for seven years before we got married,” she reminds me.

“That’s because you were high school sweethearts,” I counter.

“That fails to matter,” she snaps, and she’s right, pressing on, “The point is that I knew him. I knew him on his best days, I knew him on his worst. That kind of relationship takes time.”

“We have time,” Logan tells her. “A whole lifetime.”

I gaze up at him and the conversation that we had just after his proposal plays through my mind. I told him that I wasn’t going to defend our decision, and I have no intentions of doing so. But I do want to explain something to my mom that might just calm her concerns. However what I have to say is personal, very personal, and it would make me feel vulnerable admitting it to one person, let alone our extended audience.

Dammit, all of a sudden I wish I had let her take me aside to discuss this. I become emotional just thinking about it.

“Here’s the only thing that you need to know, mom,” I take a deep breath. “I know what it’s like to spend eight years in a relationship where I don’t feel wanted,” I say, and fuck, the sheer difference in how I feel now, compared to this time last year, staggers me. Life has become so beautiful. It’s taken me until the age of twenty-seven, but since meeting Logan for lunch that day, I finally feel like I’m really alive. “Where I don’t feel wanted,” I repeat, “or loved, or appreciated, or respected.” I look up at Logan and my bottom lip trembles slightly. I take another deep breath. “You start to create expectations about yourself, you know? Like, maybe true love just isn’t on the cards for me?” I look at Logan again and my lip wobbles even more. How could I ever have thought that, when all that time he was waiting for me? “When feeling like that is all you know, and then suddenly you meet someone who blows up all of your expectations…it changes everything,” I tell our parents. “Logan makes me feel good, and worthy, and like I actually mean something in this world. I’d like to believe that he’s right,” I say simply.

My mom’s expression is a mixture of things: shock, concern, sadness.

“This is hard for me to say to you because I love you, mom,” I say, finally choking up, “but I really can’t care what you say about us because we are certain. We’d be fucking idiots to postpone something that feels so right, and good, and calm, and clear.”

“Clear as day,” Logan smiles at me

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” I say to him, before turning to look at our audience once again. “No more questions, no divide and conquer,” I tell my mom and Rupert. “We’re decided.”

Less than a second later, Logan is in front of me, his arms holding me tightly, his lips pressed firmly against mine. His broad back blocking our parents from view, I open my mouth and receive him fully, our tongues brushing against each other with a slow simmering fervour. It’s soft and sweet and meaningful, and I could happily stay immersed in this forever.

After several long moments, Logan whispers, “Now that’s how you make a statement.”

“I meant every word,” I grin at him. “You’re a game-changer, Leary.”

He laughs against my lips. “Ditto, baby.”

He straightens up and turns around, and while I thought perhaps our parents would be busy discussing us, they’re not. Their eyes are fixed on Logan and I, and it would appear that my words have silenced them.

Mary-Gene’s reaction is gratifyingly similar to mine. Her bottom lip trembles violently as she gets to her feet and bypasses her own son to pull me into a warm hug. “I think it’s wonderful,” she whispers to me, making me smile broadly. “You have my full support.”

“Thank you,” I say to her.

We then watch as Rupert approaches Logan, trying his best to be stoic, but as he hugs his son, he too loses his composure. “You two telling us this news here…well, I don’t think it could be anymore fitting. I’m full of pride tonight, Logan,” he says, his eyes watering. “You’ve exceeded all of my expectations of you, truly. I’m in awe of the man you’ve become. I love you, son,” he manages to choke out, before embracing Logan once more.

“I love you too, dad,” Logan says earnestly. “But what about Taylor?” he then asks his parents.

“Don’t you worry about Taylor,” Rupert tells him. “He has his own demons to conquer, like you had yours. You two focus on you,” he says to me, “and you leave Taylor to us,” he says to Logan, and Mary-Gene nods in agreement. They got one son out of a dark space, here’s hoping that they can get the other one out too, I think.

“Thank you,” Logan says to his parents.

Two down, one to go. The four of us grow silent, awaiting my mom’s verdict. I look at her, and see her surveying Logan carefully, and it finally dawns on me where her resistance is coming from.

This moment is really hard for her. She’s never had to let me go before, never had to give my hand over to someone else, never, ever been replaced as my number one person. Although it was never spoken about, there was no danger of this ever happening with Jerry, not even when we moved to Paris together. I was always hers, and it was always just the two of us, ever since my father died. That’s changing. It’s already changed for me, but now I’ve sprung this on her and she’s trying hard to play catch up.

“Mom, I’m sorry that—” I start, but she holds up a hand to silence me.

Getting to her feet, she walks over to me and takes both of my hands in her own. “Sweetheart,” she starts, “when you’re used to living with a closed heart it’s not easy to open it. My protectiveness of you comes because I’ve felt pain, and loss, and anger at the hands of love,” she explains, “but I’ve never, not one single time, felt brave.” She then smiles at me, and I know good news is coming. “You are my inspiration, Gemima,” she tells me meaningfully. “I’m so proud of you for opening your heart, especially after your dick of an ex boyfriend,” she says, making me laugh out loud. “And Logan,” she releases my hands and moves to stand before him, “you might just single-handedly restore my faith in the concept of marriage. Look after her, always.”

“Always,” he promises her.

She looks at me once more. “You don’t need my blessing, but you have it anyway.”

I lunge at her, throwing my arms around her neck and hugging her tightly. I can’t explain why this moment feels like a moment of separation, but it does. We’re two fully grown adults for goodness’ sake, and yet it’s as though our parents are releasing us and sending us off to begin our journey, our own life.