Page 88 of Tattered Edges

“As for tonight being monumental, I only meant in regard to your relationship. You’ve grown quite serious. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, Victoria.”

She’d put it plainly.

Rory had expressed his commitment to me—tous—in a variety of ways. We were all or nothing. Whether we moved ahead at the speed of light or as slow as an old tortoise, we’d put something into motion neither of us could stop. But this invitation, it told me more than he’d ever spoken aloud.

I realized, in that moment, I didn’t just want his parents to like me.

I wanted to make him proud.

“You know I’ll want to hear all about it?”

Nodding, I teased, “I’ll take notes.”

Thedriveoutofthe city and into the rural landscape of Oxfordshire was magnificent. The rolling hills and vast open landscape was picturesque, and more beautiful in person than any image I’d ever seen. It was also nice to be in the car with just Rory. He never drove while we were in London, but he looked so at ease and at peace behind the wheel.

The hotel was perfect, the outside made of old stone covered in foliage, and the inside updated but still cozy and charming. I replayed my pep talk from Victoria earlier as I freshened up, and did my best to combat my nerves when Rory announced it was time for us to head out. Our destination was another twenty minutes from where we were staying.

“Are you still nervous?” he asked as he drove.

“Yes,” I answered honestly.

“You remember the night you met Graham?”

I turned to look at him then, peering at his profile through the darkness. “Yeah.”

“Wouldn’t shut up about you after you left. He couldn’t believe I wasn’t interested in a woman like you. Gorgeous. Intellectual. And a Manchester fan to boot.”

I couldn’t help but to smile, having never heard these details before.

“He was wrong, obviously. But he was also right—I’d have been a blind eejit not to like you.” He reached over and rested his hand atop my thigh, giving my leg a squeeze. “My parents are neither blind nor idiotic.”

I covered his hand with both of mine, appreciative of his comfort. Though, as I realized earlier in the day, I was anxious over more than whether or not I was likable.

“It’s not about them. It’s me. I just—I want to be enough,” I murmured.

“Sweetheart…”

“I’ve been thinking about it—about what tonight might be like if our roles were reversed; if my mother was alive and you were meeting her for the first time. I bet she would have liked you. You’re handsome, talented, and confident without being arrogant. You don’t demand attention, and yet you have a voice—you’ll discuss anything.

“Maeve was narcissistic and obsessive, but she wasn’t mean or judgmental. Not to strangers or fans, or the few friends she had. But I keep picturing the three of us sitting down to dinner and her telling you about my wasted potential. I would be a catch, if only I did X, Y, or Z. And then she might laugh it off and say maybe you were lucky I hadn’t reached my full potential, because if I had, I might not have noticed you at all.”

“And what did I say?”

“What?”

“In this fantasy dinner scene you’ve played out in your mind, after your mother insulted you, what did I say?”

I shook my head, even though he wasn’t looking at me, and murmured, “Nothing.”

“That’s not very accurate, now is it?”

“Okay, then. What would you say?”

Without a hint of hesitation, he replied, “I would say whatever potential you’d wasted was on account of excess. I would tell her your tenacity and your boldness once you’ve made up your mind about something is what makes you special—and it was in your pursuit of preserving a business that is a testament to the tradition of respecting the written word, a pastime she herself has to thank for her livelihood, that drew me to you in the first place.

“Simply put, I would kindly insist she was wrong.”

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