Page 33 of Beneath Her Hands
“Life is beautiful, Rosie,” her mother said and rubbed her shoulders. “All of it, the good, the bad, the hard, the tragic, it’s all beautiful in its own way.”
Tears pricked at Rosalind’s eyes. “I think I needed to hear that.”
“Maybe so, but you live it every day, and I am so proud of you for that.” Her mother’s eyes went misty.
“Thank you,” Rosalind mouthed, her throat too tight to speak.
“Now, let’s get to the bottom of this, because I don’t think this line of questioning had anything to do with me.” Her mother lifted her eyebrows as tears slipped from Rosalind’s eyes. “Does this have anything to do with Doctor Roberts?”
Rosalind blinked in surprise.
“A mother knows,” she said with a smile.
“It’s complicated,” Rosalind said and shook her head.
“Is it?”
“Yes, I can’t just bind myself to someone; you know that,” Rosalind said, though she knew the argument was flimsy at best.
“How does she feel about it?” her mother asked.
“Jane? I don’t… I don’t really know,” Rosalind said.
“Have you asked her?”
“Not exactly,” Rosalind said. “We’ve talked about how we feel about each other, but when the future comes up I…”
“You freeze,” her mother said with a lift of her eyebrow.
“Alright, stop that,” Rosalind said, annoyed at her mother’s acute perception.
“Listen, if there’s anything that forty-something years of marriage has taught me it’s that communication is everything. You don’t know what she’s thinking, or what she’s hoping for, or even wanting out of a possible relationship, and the only way to find out is to ask her.”
“What if I don’t like the answer,” Rosalind whispered, knowing how childish it sounded.
“Then tough. You move on,” her mother said. “You are both adults capable of making your own decisions. If she doesn’t see the same future as you, then you have to decide, together, if you can make it work, and if not, then you move on. It hurts, but that’s what tells you that it was worth the attempt in the first place. But the pain of moving on is far easier to stomach than the pain of not knowing.”
Rosalind huffed and leaned back on the couch. Thunder rumbled overhead, and the dull drone of rainfall fell against the roof. Both of them lifted their eyes to the ceiling as though they could see the rain from their place in the living room. Rosalind thought that it fit the mood—heavy, threatening, the potential to wash everything away.
“You obviously care a lot about her, so go, ask her what she wants, then look deep within yourself and decide if that’s what you want, too.” Her mother stood up from the couch. “I am going to bed, Rosie.”
“Goodnight, Mom,” Rosalind said and stood up to embrace her mother. She could feel her mother’s shoulders shake withemotion, and they stood there for a few minutes, silent tears slipping from their eyes.
“I love you,” her mother said.
“Love you, too, Mom.”
Rosalind released her embrace, and her mother smiled at her again before turning toward the stairs. She watched her mother go, waiting until she heard the door close behind her before focusing on the world around her. Her mother was right, she needed to talk to Jane. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she just disappeared and never gave this relationship a chance. The thought terrified her, but she had to. She grabbed her keys from the table and slipped back out the front door into the pouring rain.
It was still early evening, but the dark clouds made it feel like midnight. Rosalind jumped into her car and quickly backed down the driveway. She was already soaked just from the door to the driveway, but despite the pouring rain she made her way back into city toward Jane’s apartment complex. Rosalind parked in the street, unsure of the parking expectations within the complex itself and walked almost a block to her building. By the time she ascended the stairs to her door, Rosalind was dripping, but she didn’t care. She had to see Jane, she had to tell her how she felt, and see if Jane felt the same way. Even still, as she climbed the stairs, her chest became tighter and tighter. Rosalind focused on the rain and noise around her, nothing else. If she let those thoughts in, they would take over. The what-ifs. What if Jane didn’t feel the same way? What if Jane wasn’t willing to make it work? What if she had already ruined things with her?
Rosalind looked down at herself as she stood in front of Jane’s door. She couldn’t help but laugh at her sopping clothes. What kind of person does this? Still, she needed to get through it. She needed to know. She reached up but hesitated beforeher fist knocked on the door. She took a deep breath and felt the water running down her face. She pounded on the door and waited.
After a few excruciating seconds, Jane pulled the door open, concern etched across her face.
“Jane, I—” the words stuck in her throat.I love you!she screamed internally, but the words wouldn’t come out. “I…”
“Get in here, you crazy woman,” Jane said and grabbed Rosalind’s frozen arm. Rosalind allowed herself to be pulled inside. “What are you doing?” Jane’s face was creased with something that looked like fear but laced with concern.
