Page 63 of Getting Over You

Gaping at her, I say, “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying, sugar,” she says with a flippant wave of her hand, “you’re very forward with Cade.”

“I’m not,” I say. “In fact, I do my best to thwart him.”

“He is very attractive,” Belinda says. I shiver. “He seems interested in getting your attention. Maybe you should humor him.”

“What makes you think I want to give him my attention?” I bite back, heat rising to my hair.

“Don’t be that way, Gigi,” Belinda says, stern. “A boy like Cade doesn’t give a second thought to girls like you often. I’d be thankful.”

Oh, my god.

“What do you mean?” This’ll be good. What is it, I wonder. My hair? Have I gained weight despite her monitoring my caloric intake in the weeks since I’ve arrived?

“You’re just… flat,” she says.

“Flat?”

“You don’t…” She hesitates, thinking, then finishes her glass of wine. “Men like Cade are after a woman with spark. A woman who chases dreams, reaches goals, pours herself into her ambitions.”

“Oh, he wants ambition? When did he tell you about what he’s looking for in a woman?”

“I have an intuition for that kind of thing.” She stands up and walks toward the kitchen, glass in hand. “You’d be surprised how well I pick up on things like that.” She refills her wine and traipses back to me. “As busy as I’ve been lately, I still notice when Cade has his eyes glued to your behind at the diner, Gigi.”

“Mom.”The word comes out reflexively. White hot heat rises to my hairline.

“I’m allowed to enjoy romance, sugar. Even if it’s my daughter’s.” She laughs.

I can’t help but laugh at her—with her. “There isn’t romance between Cade and me.”

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

I raise my eyebrows at her. “I’m serious.”

She raises her eyebrows in rebuttal. “Uh huh.”

We laugh together, and I’m caught up in the lighthearted sweetness—something rare, hardly ever seen or experienced by Belinda Elliott. I’m enjoying her company, and despite her quips about me not being Cade’s type, I appreciate this moment with her.

It feels like a normal mother-daughter moment.

“You called me mom,” Belinda says quietly as our laughter settles. “I like being your mom.”

“If you like this so much, why do you seem like you’re fighting to not experience it at all times?”

Belinda, wine glass poised in the air, mid-sip, sets her glass down on the coffee table. “Fighting what? Being close to you? That’s crazy, Gigi. I’ve wanted nothing more since you got here than to be close to you. Why do you think I asked for help at the diner? I’m there constantly—I thought, why not have you there with me, too?”

“If you want closeness,” I say, not looking at her, “maybe start with not making me feel bad about my appearance.”

Her eyes land on my face. She hesitates before saying, “Sugar. I don’t mean to hurt any feelings. I just want you to be your absolute best.”

“No, I know.” I shake my head, the heat of embarrassment creeping up my neck and any nerve I had fizzling out. “Nevermind.”

“I didn’t realize I was bothering you,” Belinda says, faint. “I was offering helpful suggestions.”

“I know. Forget it.”

Belinda loses herself in thought for several minutes. “What do you do with your other family?” I turn to look at her. “You enjoy being with them so much… What do you do with them that’s so great?”

---