Keeping Secrets in Seattle - By Brooke Moss Page 0,88
all four of our parents were lined up at the window, watching us solemnly. “Go sort things out alone. I’m done.”
I reeled around on my heel and walked away. Gabe called my name behind me, but instead of turning around, I picked up my pace. Rainwater splattered my already soaked feet as I walked, but I didn’t care. My heart was breaking. Again.
Chapter Twenty-Two
May 15, 2012
It’s my 26th birthday today, and I called Chloe and told her that I want the job. In two weeks, I’ll be moving to Portland. My mother hasn’t stopped crying, and my roommates keep trying to bribe me into staying. But I haven’t changed my mind yet. I can’t. It’s time to start over…
“Well, happy birthday, darlin’.” My mother’s voice lacked its usual lilt, and I sighed.
It was Saturday the fifteenth. The day Gabe would have gotten married, had he not broken up with Alicia. Twisting my coffee cup on the tabletop, I said, “Thanks, Mom.”
It sucked knowing that this was going to be my last birthday in Seattle. Next year, my mother would have to drive down to Portland to take me out for coffee, because once I crossed over the Columbia River into Oregon, I had no intention of coming back for a while.
My mom cleared her throat. “Are you going to the Mariners game with Nora and Guthrie tonight?”
Shaking my head, I gazed out the window. It was a sunny spring day, and there were tulips blooming in the planter box outside the coffee shop. But on the inside, I was numb. A dark cloud had taken residence inside my heart. I didn’t want to be out for coffee with my mother. I wanted to be at my apartment, stuffing my belongings into boxes and singing along with Adele on my iPod.
“Nora called, but I never called her back.”
“Isn’t it tradition? Pizza and baseball?” She offered me an encouraging smile, but I remained stoic.
“Some traditions are meant to be broken.” I sniffed indignantly. It wasn’t the Parkers’ fault that I was hurting, but it was wrong to let Guthrie and Nora lavish me with attention when I didn’t think I could ever face their son again.
“I guess. You know, it’s going to be really lonely around here without you.” She adjusted her giant wedding ring and watched me closely. “This is your home, Violet. You love this city. Won’t you consider staying?”
“Mom—”
“I promise not to bug you about going to the Parkers’ for holidays.” She offered me a feeble smile. “I’ll learn to cook a turkey myself. We can stay home. Just you, me, and Curtis. It’ll be nice.”
“You love going to the Parkers’,” I reminded her, using a napkin to dab up the ring my mug left on the table. “I’m not going to ask you to stop doing what you love. I need a change of scenery. My new job pays better, and I’ll be in a managerial position, so it’s good for my résumé.”
My mom snorted. “Come on. When have you ever cared about your résumé?”
“Thanks.” I glowered down at my cup.
“That’s not what I meant.” She reached across the table and covered my hands with hers. “Violet, you don’t care about résumés and money, because you’re deeper than that.” When I looked up and into my mother’s eyes, she nodded. “You care about being creative and having fun at whatever you do. You care about your friends and family. You care about being true to yourself and making the people around you happy.”
My throat tightened. “Mom, I—”
“I know that you’re hurting.” She squeezed my fingers. “I know that you’ve dealt with a lot in the past few weeks and that you’re trying to get over Gabe by running away. But that’s not like you. You’re stronger than that. If you love him, you need to tell him so.”
“I did,” I said. “He said he needed some time.”
“He did.” My mom’s mouth pulled into a line. “He’s had a lot to process. And maybe he didn’t handle it as well as you were hoping, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t worth fighting for.”
I took a drink of coffee and it tasted bitter in my mouth. That was the very thing I’d said to Gabe. Why wasn’t I worth fighting for?
“You need to understand that love isn’t all romance and flowers and great sex, Violet.” I raised my eyebrows, but she didn’t stop. “Real love takes work and effort and time. Real love is willing to wait while you sort