Page 115 of The Singles Club
She sipped her martini.
“I’m sorry Dad cheated on you, I really am. But I remember what you both were like. Sometimes I think you hate Benny and me because maybe the life you wanted was one of Paris, fashion, and parties, and you resented Dad and us for taking that from you.”
She rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t hate you and Benny.” Her voice was soft and quiet.
“Do you love us?” I swallowed, not sure if I wanted to know the answer.
She fiddled with the bracelet on her wrist. “Of course I do.”
“Then look me in the eyes and say it.”
She let out a tiny laugh and reached for her martini. “This is silly.”
I pushed her drink away. “You know what’s silly? Benny and I are still stuck in the middle of you and dad in our twenties because you can’t last five minutes without some backhanded comment about something that happened over ten years ago. I love you, and I love my father, so you’re going to have to deal with that. And if you can’t, then that’s your choice, not mine. But I’m not doing this anymore with you.” I grabbed my purse and headed for the door.
“Vivian, wait.”
I closed my eyes and prepared myself for the worst, but hoping for the best. I turned around. “Yes?”
“I love you.” She clasped her hands together. “And I don’t regret having you or Benny.”
In this moment, my mother was the most vulnerable I had ever seen her.
I walked over and hugged her. “I love you, too.” She stiffened at my touch, but soon relaxed and wrapped her arms around me.
When we released, she quickly wiped at her eyes and smoothed out her hair. “So, did you hear the latest news on the new fundraiser the Whitneys are sponsoring?”
I smiled, knowing full well my mother wouldn’t do a complete one-eighty. I could accept who she was, but I knew I was done with being caught in the middle between her and my dad. And I was done seeing men and relationships the way she did.
I had to figure it out on my terms now.
* * *
I sat curled up on the leather couch in yoga pants and an old college sweatshirt. My suitcases were packed and ready, sitting by the door. Isabella sat on the chair, her feet up on the ottoman, while Crystal sat next to me with a glass of wine in her hand. They had brought some Thai food but I’d barely touched it, and I wasn’t much in the mood for wine either.
“Becky is taking over the Monthly Makeover feature article,” Crystal said. “Melanie is the temporary stylist until Carlos finds someone permanent.”
Melanie was more about trends. She never really took the time to find out about a person. To her, they were a blank canvas and nothing more. The thought of her taking over bothered me. I’d actually enjoyed working on the feature more than I thought I would. I liked the one-on-one time.
“I’m happy for Becky,” I said.
“So, Miss Assistant Parisian Stylist.” Crystal nudged me. “What are your first plans upon arriving in your new city?”
“Moving into my apartment.”
“You know what I mean. After that.”
“I don’t have any plans.”
“That doesn’t sound like the Vivian I know. The Vivian I know would have called a few acquaintances to let them know she was getting into town and would have about three different options to choose from the moment she landed.”
But I wasn’t that Vivian she knew anymore. I wasn’t quite sure who I was now.
“I think I’m just going to focus on work for a while. The goal is to become a head stylist.”
Isabella poured a glass of wine. “Then what?”
“What do you mean?”
