Page 123 of That Time I Kissed My Beachfront Boss

When Brady called her the Liv Tsunami, I was just beginning to learn more about her. I still have so much more to discover. The difference now is, I’m no longer afraid of what I might find out.

I think I might finally be ready to risk all the pain and heartache that comes with truly knowing another person. And I think I need Olivia to do that. I know I care more about her well-being now than my own.

It’s a scary thought.

My entire adult life, I doubted I was capable of being that kind of man for any woman. And I was positive no woman could fill my empty spaces either. Then Olivia McCoy tripped into my life.

She’s not just the missing piece to my puzzle. She’s the entire jigsaw. A whole glorious masterpiece all on her own. There are so many facets to her—sparkling and sharp and bright. She’s like a diamond that came to life and cartwheeled straight into my heart.

Or something like that.

I’ve probably been reading too much Jane Eyre. (Remind me to pick up a palate cleanser like Cujo soon.)

In any case, I can’t take the next steps with Olivia until I make a couple of calls. I have a few things I have to get off my chest. And I’ve got to hear myself say the words out loud to the one who made me question love in the first place.

So I take a deep breath, pull out my phone, scroll my contacts.

Call my mom.

When she answers on the third ring, I almost fall out of the lifeguard tower.

“Hello, Hudson.” Her voice is soft and murmur-y. Like a lullaby she might’ve sung when I was a kid. But maybe that’s just what I wish she’d done. I can’t be sure. I haven’t talked to her live in ages. Just messages and texts.

Barely any of those.

“Hey. Hi. Hey,” I stutter. My throat’s dry as a chalkboard. “I expected to get your voicemail.”

“I’m sorry. Would you like to hang up and call me back?” Her tone carries an inflection of teasing. “I don’t have to answer. You could just leave a message.”

“No. Ha. No.” I force out a chuckle. Wow. Talking to my own mother shouldn’t be this hard. This is ridiculous. I need to stop acting like I did something wrong.

You’ve done nothing wrong, Hudson.

I’m just a son calling to tell his mother he met someone special. That I met the one. I want her to know I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make my relationship work, even if life gets messy. When life gets messy.

My mom taught me to think only of myself. From her I learned to take off and ignore the mess. But at the end of the day, I’m grateful for the lesson. Thanks to my mother modeling what I don’t want in this life, I won’t give up on Olivia. If Liv will have me, I’ll never cut and run, no matter how complicated things become. She’s worth the risk.

Worth everything.

“So … How are you?” my mom asks. The question is tentative.

“Good,” I answer automatically. It’s a canned response to the question.

But am I good? Really?

The woman I love has been unconscious for a couple of days, and I haven’t seen you in a couple of decades. But sure. Other than that, I’m fantastic.

“How are things going there?” I ask her. Now I feel like I’m enrolled in Awkward Conversations 101, and I need to pass this class to get my degree in Nuclear Family Disfunction.

“I’ve been busy,” she says. “The dates of my latest exhibit had to be extended because the show was so popular. Lars says that’s never happened in his gallery before.”

Lars. Am I supposed to know who Lars is?

“That’s great …” I say, swallowing the words “Mom” or “Vivian.” She didn’t want to be my mother, and I’m not passive aggressive enough to use her first name. I’m just trying to get to a more neutral place with her. That’s what this call is about.

Not exactly closure, but me saying the truth that will allow me to move on.

“So, I met someone,” I say, and my chest goes tight. This is the least dramatic way of expressing the total upheaval of my heart and mind. “And she’s … special.”

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