Page 47 of The Ex-Girlfriend Agreement

“He’s got to get back to his ranch, Mom.”

“Brooke…” The way she says my name makes me go completely still.

I turn to look at her, finding her eyes—so like my own—filled with a mixture of compassion and exasperation, and my heart falls. “You knew all along.”

“Of course I knew, honey. I’m your mother. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t just tells us you and Dean broke up two years ago.”

So, there’s no more point in pretending then. “It's…complicated," I manage, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears.

"No," she says firmly, "it's actually quite simple. You love him, he loves you, but you're too afraid to fight for it."

"Mom—"

"Don't 'Mom' me, Brooke." She takes my hands in hers, her grip surprisingly strong. "I've watched you push away that man twice now. The first time, I told myself it was your life, your choice. But this time?" She shakes her head. "This time I'm not staying silent."

"You don't understand," I protest weakly. "There's so much to consider—my job, his ranch, the distance?—"

"Oh, I understand perfectly." Her voice softens slightly. "You think I don't know what it's like to be afraid? To worry that loving someone means losing yourself?"

This stops me short. My mother has always seemed so certain in her choices, so comfortable in her identity as wife and mother alongside her career. "You were afraid?"

"Terrified." She smiles slightly. "When I met your father, I was on track to make partner at my firm, the youngest woman ever considered. Marriage, family—those weren't in my five-year plan."

"But you gave it up for Dad," I say, the old familiar fear rising in me. "You left the firm."

"I left that firm," she corrects. "And joined another, part-time at first, then full-time when you girls were in school. I found a different path, not a lesser one."

"It's not the same," I argue, though her words have planted a seed of doubt in my certainty. "Times were different. The expectations?—"

"The expectations are ones you've put on yourself, Brooke." She releases my hands to cup my face, the gesture so tender it brings tears to my eyes. "This idea that you have to choose between career and love, between success and happiness—it's a false choice. The hardest part is having the courage to imagine a different future than the one you've planned."

Her words hit me with unexpected force, echoing what Dean has been trying to tell me all along. The problem isn't that there's no solution—it's that I've been afraid to even look for one, to consider alternatives to the stark either/or I've constructed in my mind.

"What if I can't make it work?" I whisper, giving voice to my deepest fear. "What if I try, and I fail, and I lose everything—my job, my independence, and Dean too?"

"Oh, sweetheart." My mother's smile is sad but knowing. "What if you don't try, and you spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been? Isn't that a greater failure?"

The question lands like a physical blow, forcing me to confront the reality of a future without Dean—not just the next few weeks or months, but years stretching endlessly forward. Holidays spent alone in my Manhattan apartment. Successes with no one who truly understands to celebrate them with. A life that looks perfect on paper but feels hollow in practice.

And suddenly, the fear that has paralyzed me transforms, crystallizing into something new: the terror of losing Dean forever, of watching him walk away not because he doesn't love me, but because I'm too afraid to love him the way he deserves.

"He's gone," I say, the words catching in my throat. "I let him go."

"To the airport," my mother reminds me. "He hasn't left the island yet."

The implication hangs between us for a moment before the full meaning registers. "You think I should..."

"I think," she says deliberately, "that if you love someone, you fight for them. You show up. You prove that they matter more than your fear."

My heart begins to race, possibility unfurling where moments ago there was only resignation. "I need to go after him."

"Yes," she agrees, a smile breaking across her face. "You do."

"I need a car. Or a taxi. Now." The urgency is sudden and overwhelming, propelling me into motion after what feels like hours of stasis.

My mother is already turning toward the valet stand. "Go change quickly. I'll have them call a cab."

"No time," I decide, glancing down at my sundress and sandals. "This will have to do."

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