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As I finish getting ready, I hold tight to his words. I’ll need his strength to get through this night.

Thirty minutes later, Jackson walks me to the car he ordered.

I’m given a kiss and a solid slap on the ass before I get in.

The heat and tingling have me smirking. “Save it for the bedroom, Romeo.” Doesn’t matter how much we try to resist each other physically, it’s virtually impossible.

It’s what brought us together and is still the easiest way for us to connect.

“Don’t you worry about that, baby. I have all kinds of stuff planned for the bedroom when you get home.”

Home.

Has a sweeter word ever been said? He’s opened his apartment, his arms, and his heart to me. Our hearts and—I can say with confidence—souls are emotionally entwined. We’re still learning everything else as we go along.

I’ve always been a little different from my friends.

Not everything has to be coming up roses for me.

I’ve never been much of a romantic anyway.

But Jackson sure knows how to make me feel special.

I blow him a kiss after sinking into the back seat.

He shuts the door, but I tell the driver.

“Wait.” Rolling down the window, I say, “Hey?”

“What?” he says with a smirk on his face as he shoves his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.

“I prefer you naked.”

He bellows in laughter. “And here I thought you were going to tell me you loved me.”

“That too, St. James.” I sit back and nod to the driver. Just as the car leaves the curb, I look back. “I love you. I love you so much.”

I don’t need to hear it back, although he says it without so much as a second thought. I know that man loves me. I feel it, and that rush is empowering.

The car ride is just long enough to let the nerves set in. I steel myself, wanting to go into this meeting with an open mind and heart. It’s hard, though, when I’ve been burned so many times. But she’s still my mother, and if I can make this relationship work, I want that. More than anything.

I enter the bar and start down the aisle of black-and-white checkerboard tiles, searching the dimmed bar for any sign of my mom. She stands out, always saying we were born to, but she’s not here. I turn back and look again as if I’d possibly miss her. Nope. Not here.

Checking the time, I was ten minutes late due to traffic a few blocks away. Is she fashionably late? Is that really even a thing? Or it’s just a good excuse to use when you’re running behind? I know I’ve used it, but it’s a habit I’ve broken more recently. Now I just own my tardiness and apologize.

I’m here, so I’ll wait a little while. Instead of sitting at the bar, I choose a table for two that has just come available. Slipping around, I sit on the cushioned bench that is the length of the bar, leaving her the chair.

Since I’m here, I order a glass of champagne and a water.

Jackson would be so proud. Setting my phone on the table, just in case she texts, I’m tempted to bide my time and text him.

But I don’t. He’s working while I’m gone.

I’m hoping when I return, he’ll be free to finish what he started on the sidewalk.

Twenty minutes pass. I check the time on my phone.

Thirty minutes . . . I polish off a side of fries with a delicious aioli dipping sauce. Jackson would be proud.

Forty-five . . .

An hour passes and I’ve had two rounds of champagne and water. Tired—emotionally, disappointment had settled in around nine thirty. Hurt followed shortly after. Anger has replaced the pain. That’s it. I press my palms to the table and stand, ready to pay my bill and go home.

“Marlow.” My name is heard above the crowd.

Looking to the left, I see her waving in my direction .

. . with Paolo, her long-term boyfriend, in tow.

“Just us” comes ringing back. But more importantly, the server hasn’t returned to clear the dishes from my table.

Dammit. I sit back down and wave, trying to act like I haven’t been here drinking and eating my feels.

Her gaze does a quick sweep of my outfit before I receive an approving smile and air kisses. “Hope you weren’t waiting long. Dinner ran over but you know how that goes.”

“No, just got here. It’s fine.”

“Started without us, I see,” she says, sitting down and plucking her glove from each finger before removing them and setting them lovingly across her lap since the table is dirty as she points out.

Paolo finds a server to add a chair to our table for two, but before he returns, I whisper, “I thought it would just be the two of us.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you said it would be.”

“Huh?” She pulls her phone from her clutch and studies the screen. “No, I said it would be just us.” Signaling toward Paolo, she adds, “It is. Just the three of us.”

I’m slow to catch on, but when I do, I realize she meant Jackson wasn’t welcome. Ah. She never did like an audience when it came to the uglier things in life. This is a setup. I should leave now, but the little girl in me needs to go through this.

I’ll never learn.

Nonetheless, I’m here, and the server has returned and taken her order. Turning to me, he asks, “Can I get you another glass?”

“Absolutely.”

My mom says, “So you have been here a while.”

“Yes, Mom. I’ve been here since a few minutes after nine. My car was stuck in traffic, or I would have been here on time. Now I see that was a fruitless concern of mine.”

Paolo returns and leans over the table to greet me. “So good to see you again,” he says with a kiss to the cheek. His accent is thicker than I remember, his hair darker as if he’s recently colored it. I have nothing against him.

He’s a former Brazilian model and the son of a telecommunications tycoon in South America.

Late thirties. Paolo is everything my mom told me she wanted for me—worldly, degreed, older, comes with family money and a legacy.

The only things she values. Like modeling, she expected me to follow in her footsteps, and just like in that endeavor, I will fail her in who I choose to be with.

I spent a lot of years dating many men Talia Marché would have adored.

I’m not with them for many reasons. My mother’s approval was never a factor.

I’m with a man who is more than she even realizes—kind, supportive, thoughtful, a great family who values people over money, but yes, he has some of the latter, too, even if I’m not yet privy to just that part of his life. He can’t be doing that badly judging by his apartment.

Paolo’s always been perfectly fine for my mom other than jetting her around the world and away from me. He sits as soon as the chair is delivered.

I set aside my hurt feelings, and tell her, “It’s good to see you.”

Pushing her blond hair with caramel highlights over her shoulder. It’s sprayed stiff, but she still looks beautiful and caught every pair of eyes when she walked in with her pale purple YSL fitted dress showing off her figure. She smiles at me. “I didn’t know if you’d show up.”

“If it’s the only chance I have to see you, I would say I don’t have much of a choice.”

“Why do we fight, Marlow? I hate it. What can we do to mend this relationship?”

“I was thinking the same thing. I hate the animosity I feel toward?—”

Surprise takes over her expression. “Animosity? Why would you feel animosity? You’ve always been spoiled, Marlow.

Your father did that to you. Set you up to expect people to bow at your whim.

” She leans forward, and I catch a hint of cigarettes on her breath.

She told me she had given up smoking years ago.

“I didn’t spoil. I gave you a mother who chose to be independent.

You should be proud. If anyone has a right to be upset, it’s me.

You almost ended my career when my figure was wrecked to give you the breath of life. ”

The drinks are delivered, but the momentary distraction from her dramatics doesn’t disguise the reality presenting itself before my very eyes.

It doesn’t matter what she wears or what color she dyes her hair.

The flavor of the day accent she’s choosing, or even if she would have come alone.

I will never be anything more than a burden to her.

She will never change.

“Tell her how you feel.” I hear Jackson in my head. “You have nothing to lose.”

“I used to think we fought because we were too alike. That’s what Dad told me. But that’s not true, is it, Talia?” The other name has become too much to bear at the moment in spite of my strength.

“Your father never understood me, so what does he know?”

“It’s what I know, and that’s the truth.

We can’t be more different. I love you, Mom.

I always will, but I don’t need you in my life.

Not right now.” Holding my hand up, I continue, “You don’t have to worry about me anymore.

I know the feeling is mutual, and that’s all right because I like who I am.

My boyfriend loves me, every pound and flaw, and thinks I’m beautiful and sexy.

It’s not all the compliments he showers on me.

It’s the way he looks at me. Those looks, day by day, have started to erase the damage you did to my self-esteem. ”

She sips champagne like she’s watching a play for entertainment. Paolo, at least, has the emotional capacity to shift uncomfortably in his seat.

My throat goes dry despite feeling ready for this.

Lay it all out , I tell myself . “I already lost my job this morning, and I suppose I’m losing you as well.

For now, this is how it needs to be. It’s not forever.

I hope. But our relationship, in the current stage it’s in, is not healthy for me.

” I grab my purse, still holding tight to who I am and knowing my friends were always my family and they loved me.

“Are you finished?” she asks, staring at me.

“No. Order the fries. They were excellent with champagne.”

Standing, I shift out from behind the table and come around to give her a side hug since that’s all I’m given access to. “I love you, Mom. Text me next time you’re in the city. Maybe we can try again.”

“Marlow?”

“Oh, and send me a postcard when you think of me. Safe travels.” Walking out, I have to say, I don’t feel loss or the pain I felt earlier. I feel we have an opportunity to start again when we’re both in a better place.

In the back of the car, I smile all the way home.

Home.

The sweetest word that ever existed.