Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 131459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“This isn’t a panic attack,” I scoffed.
“It completely and totally is.”
Okay, wait.
Was it?
“Every time I looked at Roland, I’d get weak in the knees. He was so handsome,” she declared. “But the sex appeal, darling. Lord. He was magnetic. And he had follow-through. He was, quite simply, a superlative fuck. He was also charming. He was attentive. He was ambitious. He had his own money, and he worked hard to make more. He played hard too. He took life by the throat. And he wanted me. I was bewitched. Besotted. But I made a fatal mistake in falling in love with him.”
Focusing on what she was saying rather than the feeling in my chest, I asked, “What was that?”
“I would realize far too late that I didn’t like him.”
We had oft discussed Roland.
But she’d never told me that.
“Wow,” I replied.
The light turned green, and I moved forward with the other cars.
“Yes. We were lovers. And we were fighters. There was passion. Emotion. Fiery. Consuming. To this day, if he came to me, apologized, and I felt the barest hint he was genuine in his contrition, I would take him back. Yes, I am that weak for him, which is why I still hate him so actively, because I miss how alive he made me feel, how desirable and glorious. But we were not friends. To be married, for any relationship to have any true meaning, you must be friends.”
I was holding tight to the steering wheel, almost as tight as my chest was feeling.
And what Nora was saying wasn’t making it any better.
Alas, she wasn’t finished.
“Further, dearest. It’s true. You are no longer that thirty-year-old lovely who had lived enough finally to be interesting, but still had perky tits and firm skin and no hairs growing in bizarre places. And yes, that is terrifying. You captivated Tom Pierce when you were young and both of your lives were just beginning, but it was not meant to be. Now, who are you? He’s a man, of course he’s still considered vital and charismatic. He has years yet to live before he’ll cease to be a good match, though with his money, he’ll always hold vestiges of that. You’re a widowed mother, and no matter your accomplishments in your past, and the ones you’ll achieve in your future, the accomplishment of having a heart-shaped ass, a wrinkle-free forehead and no baggage in tow is out of your reach. What could he possibly see in you?”
Now I was breathing heavily. My lungs felt caught in a vise. It was so bad, I was considering pulling over.
“But,” she went on softly, “it’s been a long time. This means you’re out of practice. You don’t understand it is categorically true that we, my darling, are not grape juice. We are fine wine, crafted by artisans, and we don’t want a man who doesn’t appreciate us. This is why good wine is so very expensive, Mika. It’s a mortal sin for someone who will not understand how precious it is to be allowed to let it touch their lips. You’re about to have dinner with a wine aficionado. Of course you’re nervous. But you have this, Mika, because, you must never forget, you are all that’s you, you are all you crafted yourself to be, and it is magnificent.”
Okay, maybe I was feeling a bit better.
“Now, listen to Mother,” Nora continued. “Pull over. Take three very deep, very slow breaths. Center yourself where you are, safe and sound in your car, talking to your wise and dear friend, about to have dinner with an interesting man. Then go make a new friend, my darling. I’ll stick with you as you do as I say.”
I made no reply, found a turnoff into a shopping center and slid into a parking spot.
Then I took in three breaths, deep and slow, and put myself where I was. Safe in my Tesla. In Phoenix. Four minutes away from Tom.
And I was me.
In my life, I had been dismissed and even scorned by people who didn’t get me or my point of view or my work, or worse for them, the power I wielded by being self-contained and not giving that first fuck that they didn’t understand who I was.
I had felt the jealousy of other women and other artists and people I didn’t even know waft by me like a missed punch.
I had slept with who I wanted and spent time with who I liked and went where I wanted to go and followed my creative spark wherever it danced.
This had led me to Rollo.
It had given me Eleanor and Nora and Teddy, and most especially, Cadence.
It had given me my life and my work.
And now, it was giving me Tom.
“Better?” Nora asked.
“I love you,” I told her.
“I know. It’s one of my life’s most precious gifts. Have fun, my dearest. Hugs and kisses.”