“I get that, I do. But come on, mom,” I said, trailing my finger along the lip of my cup. “Love just isn’t enough sometimes.”
“Baby,” she said, looking at me like I’d just said something very immature, “I’d sign my name in blood that it isn’t.”
I groaned, sinking into my chair. This little mother/daughter convo was getting me nowhere.
“I’m so damn confused right now, Mom. I’m so confused I don’t think anything you could say or explain would clear it all up for me.”
She stayed silent for a minute, her forehead lining along with the corners of her eyes as she worked something over in her mind.
“Love is what brings you together, Lucy. But it’s the blood, sweat, and tears of hard work that keeps you together,” she began, choosing her words carefully. “Love isn’t only love, sweetheart. It’s hard work, and trust, and tears, with even a few glimpses of devastation. But at the end of each day, if you can still look at the person at your side and can’t imagine anyone else you’d rather have there, the pain and heartache and the ups and downs of love are worth it.”
And the clouds of confusion started to part.
“Love is just as much suffering as it is sweetness. If it was perfect, that’s what they’d call it. They wouldn’t call it bittersweet.”
“Are you saying every relationship experiences the same kinds of highs and lows Jude and I do?” I asked, taking another sip of coffee. “Because I think more people would choose to be alone if that was the case.”
“Lucy, you’re a passionate, emotional person. Jude isn’t so much different. What do you expect to be the result when you two come together? You two don’t multiply the peaks and the valleys together; you exponentially affect them,” she said, getting up and grabbing the coffee pot from the holder.
“And there’s no doubt for some people, life would be far easier if they never fell in love. To never have to ache for a man like he was more essential than the air that kept you alive.” She filled my cup, then hers, before settling the pot between us. Gauging my mom’s loveathon lecture here, we’d drain it soon. “Life would be smoother and you’d know more what to expect from day to day if you kept love out of your life,” she paused, looking at the window as the first rays of dawn started shining through. “But you’d be alone.”
“So you’re saying I should choose Jude over the life of hermit-like solitude?” I asked, lifting my brows at her.
“I’m saying you should choose Jude if, at the end of the day, when the world is against you, you can say with absolute certainty that you want Jude at your side. Can you say the good times are worth the bad times?”
My body and mind were becoming more alert as the caffeine pulsed through my veins and my mind started making itself up after weeks of worry and uncertainty.
It was about time.
“When did you become Jude’s number one fan?” I asked, smiling over at her. Mom had gone from loathing Jude when we first met, to disliking him through the entirety of my senior year, to tolerating him since we’d been together in college. I hadn’t realized she’d crossed into the land of Jude approval.
“When he proved again and again that he’s yours,” she answered simply. “I can forgive a man’s past faults, his present shortcomings, and his future failures if every minute of every day he loves me like it’s his religion,” she said, taking a breath. “Jude loves you like that. It just took me a while to see that, so he’s got the mom stamp of approval now.”
I didn’t reply, my mind was so hard at work. Not so much rethinking things, but realigning expectations and assumptions and even a bit of my worldview. I’d been so focused on the reasons Jude and I shouldn’t be together, I’d been blinded to the reasons we should. And now that I’d “seen the light,” those reasons were worth every bit of hardship that came our way.
“Working things out over there, sweetheart?” Mom said, startling me. I’d gone so far and long down the paths of my thoughts, everything had faded away.
I took a slow breath, feeling confidence bleed into my veins, drowning out all the doubt. “All worked out, I think,” I said, feeling the weight vest I’d been wearing for too long lifted. “Thanks, Mom. For the coffee, for listening, and for the ‘come to Jude’ talk.”
“You’re welcome, Lucy,” she said, arching a brow as she studied me. “But what in the hell are you still doing in that chair?”
My eyes squinted—was she advocating for what I guessed she was?