Page 91 of Love You Truly

I hate arguing with Beatrix because she’s persuasive and always ends up winning, but I like what she’s saying about love. “Why do you keep insisting she loves me? All evidence points to the contrary.”

“I saw it in her face on your wedding day. Plus, she told me.”

This is news. I perk up for the first time. “She did?”

“Yes, dumbass. She’s as helpless in love with you as you are with her, so be the bigger person and apologize for assuming the worst about her.”

The words sting. In all my hurt and sadness, I hadn’t realized that I’m guilty of exactly what people have been doing to me for years—judging Mallory incorrectly.

I feel awful, but for the first time in a week, I feel something else—hope. If my dad taught me anything, it’s that I’m a good judge of character. Only I didn’t trust my gut when it mattered, and I took it out on the woman I love more than anyone.

But I can fix this. It’s time to stop making life more complicated than it needs to be.

CHAPTER 34

Mallory

It feels good to whack at the soil with a hoe. I don’t know if I’m doing the right kind of tilling for the future food garden I have planned for this site, but it’s giving my back and arms a workout and my brain a rest.

A lot of dirt is flying in my face instead of staying on the ground, where it belongs. I’m not great with a hoe or any garden tools, for that matter. Ironic, given how much time my parents spent working the land—literally.

Growing up, I never had an interest. Instead of planting a garden, I learned makeup tips. Instead of getting my hands dirty, I got my nails done. And by the end of high school, I couldn’t use a hoe, but I did my best to be one.

“So you figured it out.” My mom’s voice sounds just like mine, only she speaks slightly slower, something that came with age.

“What?”

“How good it feels to whack at weeds with a metal implement.”

I turn to look at her, leaning on the handle of the hoe while the business end digs into the ground. “I didn’t know you guys were back.”

My mom laughs. “That’s the beauty of wandering. No set date for return.”

Standing here in the field, digging into the soil, I can’t believe I never asked her about what motivated her and my dad over all these years. “Why do you do it? What would be so hard about making a set plan and letting the people in your life know what you’re doing? Worried they might get the wrong idea and think you care about them?”

I don’t mean for the words to come out sounding so harsh, but I guess I haven’t fully accepted their choices despite Dash’s wise words a few weeks back. Or maybe I’m rejecting his words because he seems to have rejected me. I haven’t heard from him at all since we agreed to take a break.

“It was never about not caring. I hope you know that.”

I look at my mom. Maybe for the first time in my life, I really look at her. She seems healthy and suntanned in a way that comes from working the land under a broad-brimmed hat. She has more of a glow than a tan. Her light eyes have a sharpness to them, as though observing the tiniest details around her and cataloging them away with delight.

“How could I know, Mom? You were always leaving. Always finding bigger adventures than whatever existed here. Like I wasn’t exciting enough to make you stay.”

The light dims in her eyes, and she squints at me. “How could you ever imagine that? You…you were what I came back to. You’re my touchstone that allows me to go where my heart wants to wander because you’re here when I come home. I adore you, Mallory.”

So many warring thoughts jockey for attention, but one shoves its way to the forefront: I’m the reason she comes home, not the reason she leaves. It still doesn’t excuse her behavior, but for the first time, I understand her fuzzy logic, at least the way it makes sense in her mind.

“That’s not…normal, Mom. Parents don’t put their kids in that position. They don’t make their kids beg them not to leave just so they can feel valuable when they return.”

“I know. I know it doesn’t make sense, but it’s how your dad and I are wired. We did the best we could. Truly. If we hadn’t spent time away, learning from growers and working the land with people who really needed our help, we’d have been far worse parents than we actually were.”

“Bull. Shit.”

She startles at my words but doesn’t disagree.

“I needed your help. Me, your own daughter. Life wasn’t easy for me, and you weren’t there for any of it.”

She observes me in the same way she always has, as though I’m an interesting specimen who bears no real resemblance to her. For once, I’m glad we look nothing alike. I don’t want to be anything like her.

---