Page 28 of Revealing Mark
It was something I hadn’t really thought about. Maybe it was because I had spent so much time trying to figure my life out that I hadn’t considered what I wanted in the future. “You’re contradicting yourself.”
“How so?”
“In your eyes I can’t take care of myself, so how on earth could you believe I could be a good mother?” I misplaced things every day, I could misplace a baby. Although it would have an inbuilt way of letting me know where it was.
“You can be a good mother and still be absent-minded. Learning to take care of yourself is the same as learning to care for a baby, but love isn’t something that can be taught.”
There was something in his words that revealed more than anything I had discovered about him in all the years I had known him. It made me wonder what his mother was like.
My mom was kind and loving, and I couldn’t imagine not having that. It was difficult enough navigating my young adultlife without having the encouragement and love I had from a mother who had been there every step of the way.
She had been the one to encourage me in the early days of photography. Where most parents would have talked their child into a better, more dependable job, my mother’s belief in my talent had pushed me to where I was today. I don’t know what I would have done without that.
Had I grown up differently, without her guidance, I didn’t know if I would be the same person who was at ease with young children. Maybe I only knew how to love because I had a mother who had showered me with so much of it that I had never been left wanting.
“Maybe,” I murmured, too lost in my own deep thoughts to notice Mark look over at me for a few moments before turning his attention back to the road.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mark’s words were still playing on my mind while I sorted through Marshall’s photos. Some I secretly smiled at. Some I stared at and wondered how I would feel if I had a child. It filled my heart with something foreign, which disturbed me. I shifted the laptop on the coffee table, unable to complete the task of picking out photos.
Mark had disappeared into his study when we had arrived back to his apartment after collecting some stuff I had forgotten to pack the last time and my laptop.
I had secretly eaten the apple he had handed me in the morning, refusing to show that he had been right. It was bad enough he walked around with a confidence I wished I possessed. Feeling out of place even in the most familiar surroundings was the story of my life. It was probably why my mother had to encourage me more than she had to with Matthew and Sophie. I think in some ways I was more needy.
I clasped my hands together nervously, not liking where my mind was leading me. Everyone was different. It was okay I wasn’t together like everyone else. My uniqueness came from all my traits, including the ones I wished I didn’t possess.
Once I had soothed the whole idea of my mom and what children meant to me, I thought about Mark and how we had kissed.
Why was it so wrong? I wanted to know his reasons for not wanting to take it further, but I was scared of what the answer would be. I stood and began to pace the room as I wondered if knowing would help ease the rejection. What if he had a really good reason for stopping? But there was only one way to find out and that would be to ask him.
I didn’t possess the confidence to handle that, so I decided to put it aside and thought it was best to keep avoiding him.
As if sensing he was foremost in my thoughts, he entered the room.
“You done?” he asked, wandering over to the sofa to sit down.
I shrugged. “Almost.”
“Can I see the photos?” he asked, inclining his head to the laptop.
I nodded.
He took the laptop and placed it on his lap. I stood and watched the expression on his face from the other side of the room as he looked through the photos. His serious features softened, and when he closed the laptop he had a smile.
“They are really good.”
“Thanks.” I felt awkward.
He returned my laptop to the table before he stood and walked over to me. “I don’t like how we left things.”
He was broaching a subject that made me feel even more awkward.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I gave him a dismissive shrug. There was no way I wanted to talk about that. I had shoved that into the deepest, darkest place in my memory, never to be thought about again.
“Tracy,” he warned, in that tone that got my back up.
“It happened and I’m over it.” I didn’t care that he could probably tell I was lying. Telling him I had spent most of the night thinking about it again and again wasn’t an option.
