Page 89 of Home for the Holidays

“Right?”

“Okay, so guess now’s a good time to tell her you’re shacking up with a MILF.”

“Goddammit, Stacey,” Iris said, trying to contain her laughter. “I hate you. You know that?”

“No, you don’t. You love me.”

“I do; you’re right.”

Stacey smiled. “You are a strong, capable woman who is worthy of love and acceptance and who is exactly the kind of person people want to have in their lives. You, my dear, need to stop thinking you aren’t worthy of affection.”

Iris stuck out her tongue. “When did you become a therapist?”

“We literally own the practice together, you dick. You know I’m right about all of this, which is why you’re being like this.”

“I know.”

“Then? What are you going to do?”

“What am I supposed to do? I’m not going to have this conversation with my mom here. No way.”

“Why not?”

“Because!”

“That’s a bullshit answer.”

Iris sighed as she tossed her phone next to her on the futon. She heard Stacey let out a gasp.

“Don’t you dare toss me away.”

She groaned as she picked the phone back up. “Talking to Mary is not easy. You know this.”

It never had been. Her mom loved her, of course, but Iris was sure that underneath the love was a level of hatred she would never admit to. Hatred because Iris was a lesbian, yes, but also because Iris was nothing at all like her mom had wanted her to be. She struggled financially, emotionally, mentally. She made poor decisions. She slept around. She moved away. She barely called. She didn’t do a single thing to work toward a better relationship with her, which was definitely not something she wanted to admit from her shiny pedestal of psychological righteousness.

“It’s always about her,” she choked out. “Every time we talk. How did she mess up? Why does she have a gay daughter? That’s hard to deal with.”

“Well, like you’ve been telling Zac for the past however many days, I think you need to be honest with your mom.” She shrugged. “That’d be a great step toward healing.”

Being honest meant shedding the years of padding she’d built up in order to deal with her mom. She hated feeling this way about her. Mary Abbott wasn’t a bad mom, and growing up, Iris had loved her more than anything. As she aged, though, and learned more about the world, she realized she probably hadn’t been loved the way she needed to be. She had to fight for every scrap of validation. She had worked her butt off in school; got straight As; got into NYU on a scholarship, where she had straight As again; got into the master’s program—again, straight As; and still, her mom thought she should have taken a different route. No congratulations, no ‘Great job,’ no ‘I’m proud of you,’ nothing. It was sad and frustrating, but Iris did what she had always done. She ran as far away as possible. She had stayed in New York and grew to love it because she knew it was the only way to escape. Except that wasn’t the case anymore, was it?

“Speaking of honesty…”

“Oh god,” Stacey said. “What?”

“How hard would it be to continue our practice together if I worked remotely?”

“Remote from where?” Stacey’s eyes widened as it hit her. “From there? FromIndiana?”

“I know; it’s nuts, isn’t it?”

“It is. Yes.” Stacey’s small smile appeared, though, and calmed Iris’s nerves. “But it’s not shocking.”

“It should be. You know this isn’t me. To even consider—”

“It’s not you, I know. But… that’s why I’m not shocked. Can we discuss this when you get home?”

“About that…”

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