Such Great Heights - Sydney Logan Page 0,68
they’d signed the papers.”
“And you said no.”
“I said not right now. Call me crazy, but I’d like the man of my dreams to be single when he asks me to marry him. He also proposed on the very same night that Natasha asked me to raise her son. Everything about that day was complicated and emotional, so forgive me if I needed a minute to comprehend it all.”
Mom starts to say something, but I’m not finished.
“Plus, he hadn’t met you guys. At that point, I’d only met his parents once. We’d only been on one date. Everything was just moving way too fast, and it terrified me.”
Mom smiled patiently, waiting for my rant to end.
“I understand, sweetheart.”
I blink rapidly.
“You do?”
“Of course. Those are solid reasons for saying no.”
“Thank you.”
“But I don’t think those are the only reasons you said no.”
“What do you mean?”
“You said you were terrified.”
Did I say that?
“You said everything was moving too fast, and you were terrified. What are you afraid of?”
Why did I say that? I hadn’t felt terrified at the time. I’d felt overwhelmed and emotional, but terrified? What could possibly be scary about marrying the man of my dreams?
“Besides the future ex-wife, this has all been a little too easy, hasn’t it?” Mom says softly. “Sure, you’ve had boyfriends in the past, but Jackson’s different. He’s a rich lawyer with a beautiful son . . . and they’re both crazy about you. You’re in love, and you’re happy. But you don’t trust any of it, because who finds their Prince Charming at the top of a high-rise building in a penthouse apartment? Who, instead of having a classroom full of kids, gets one amazing child who loves you completely and unconditionally? This is fairytale stuff, Olivia. In your mind, it’s come too easy. And that’s why you’re terrified.”
Before I can even formulate a response, Mom looks toward the mantle above the fireplace. My eyes follow hers, and I notice a new painting there. It’s a beautiful meadow, full of wildflowers and trees, with a waterfall in the distance.
“Did you paint that?”
She nods.
“Mom, it’s gorgeous.”
Her attention to detail in her paintings has always blown my mind, but this one is particularly stunning. So serene and peaceful.
“Do you think so?” she asks.
“Are you kidding? Of course. The colors are amazing.”
“I don’t know. It only took me a day to paint it.”
“That makes it even more incredible. It usually takes you weeks to finish a piece like that.”
“I know,” she says, gazing thoughtfully at her artwork. “I usually take my time, worrying about every splash of color and each stroke of the brush. But this painting came very easily to me.”
“Well, it’s beautiful. It should be hanging in a gallery somewhere.”
“That’s sweet of you to say. But do you think it’s any less beautiful, just because it came to life so quickly?”
“Of course not. That just makes it even more beaut—”
My eyes flash from her lovely painting to the very smug smile on her face.
She had me, and she knew it.
“My sweet girl,” Mom says, taking my hand in hers. “Sometimes, things are so perfect . . . so right . . . that you don’t have to take your time. You don’t have to make sure that every little piece fits perfectly. Sometimes, the colors and shapes perfectly blend and flow with ease. Sometimes, you don’t have to struggle to make things beautiful.”
I don’t even realize I’m crying until she gently wipes away the tears rolling down my cheeks.
“Sometimes,” she says tenderly, “the most beautiful things in life are effortless. Don’t be afraid of it. Consider yourself lucky that you found it, and never, ever take it for granted.”
Mom hugs me tight just as the door bursts open. Ryder races into the living room with my dad and Jackson in tow. The men stop laughing when they see my tears.
“Why are you crying, ‘Livia?” Ryder asks, jumping into my lap. His tiny fingers slide along my cheek. “Are you sad?”
I give him a teary smile.
“No. I’m crying because I’m happy.”
“I’m happy, too! Know why?”
“Why?”
“We’re going fishing!”
I glance at my father who’s positively beaming. I’m still not sure how successful this fishing trip will be considering it’s late November, but Dad said not to worry, so I won’t.
“Well, then, you’re going to need a tacklebox,” Mom says. “Come help me look, Ryder. I think we have an extra one in the upstairs closet.”
Ryder kisses my cheek before leaping out of my arms and following my parents up