Page 12 of Forbidden Fruit

“But what’s he like with you?” Holly presses.

The question catches me off guard. What is Clive like with me? We’ve only interacted at family gatherings—Christmas dinners and the occasional birthday celebration. He’s always been courteous, asking thoughtful questions about my event planning business and remembering details from our last conversation in a way that surprised me.

“He’s... nice,” I say finally. “Attentive. He actually listens when I talk about work, unlike—” I stop myself.

“Unlike Jack?” Holly finishes, raising an eyebrow.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” She sighs. “Becca, I love you, but sometimes I worry you’re settling.”

“I’m not settling,” I say automatically. “Jack and I have history. We understand each other.”

“Do you, though? Because from where I’m sitting, it seems like you understand Jack, but I’m not sure he understands you.”

I zip my cosmetics bag with more force than necessary. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it? When was the last time he asked about your big event at the Plaza? Or remembered your mom’s birthday? Or didn’t bail on dinner with your friends at the last minute?”

I feel my cheeks flush. “Jack’s been busy with work.”

“For five years?” Holly’s voice softens. “Becs, I’m not trying to rain on your parade. I just want you to be sure this is what you want, not what you think you should want.”

The distinction makes me uncomfortable. I’ve always been good at knowing what I should do. It’s been my guiding principle through school, career, and relationships: the right college, job, and boyfriend from the right family. I’ve checked every box meticulously.

“I love him,” I say, and I mean it. I think.

Holly squeezes my hand. “I know you do. Just promise me you’ll keep your eyes open this weekend.”

“For what?”

“For whether this is your happily ever after or just the next box you’re desperate to check.”

I’m saved from responding by my phone buzzing with another text. This time it’s from Jack:

Don’t overpack. We’re not staying the whole week.

My stomach drops. “What does that mean?”

Holly leans over to read the message. “Maybe he has to get back for work?”

“He didn’t mention that before.” I text back quickly:

Why not? I thought we were staying until Friday?

The three dots appear, disappear, then appear again. Finally:

Plans changed. Mom wants to be back for some charity thing on Tuesday. I’ll explain later.

I stare at the phone, disappointment settling heavily in my chest. Four days instead of seven. My perfect proposal beach vacation, cut short.

“See?” Holly says gently. “This is what I mean. He changes plans without consulting you, and you just accept it.”

“It’s not his fault,” I say automatically. “It’s Kay’s charity event.”

“And he couldn’t tell her you two would stay on your own? Or at least discuss it with you first?”

I don’t have a good answer for that. The truth is that Jack rarely stands up to his mother, and he seldom consults me on decisions. It’s just how things are between us – the comfortable pattern we’ve fallen into. I make accommodations; he makes decisions.

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