“Uh huh,” I say. “And so if that’s how you feel, how come you have no problem with me being here?”
She sighs again, louder this time. “You couldn’t live at home with us. The fact that you’re my daughter and couldn’t get another job was rather telling, don’t you think?”
“Telling of what?”
“You’re twenty-seven years old, Veronica. What does that say about me, about my role in Chicago, my role in the government, among the people, that my adult daughter is a complete failure?”
Stunned. I’m stunned. I’m used to low blows delivered by my mother but this one takes the cake. And the fact that she’s saying it in her politician voice, cold and factual, just adds to the injury.
“Mom,” I say, trying to hide the hurt in my voice.
“Oh, toughen up honey,” she goes on. “You know what I mean.”
“You just called me a failure!”
“I’m not saying you’re a failure, I’m saying that’s what it looks like. People will think there’s something wrong if you can’t get a job, and I wasn’t about to have you moping around at home and coasting your way through life. You’re my daughter, Rose Locke’s daughter, and you’re the only one I have left. I don’t have Juliet anymore and neither do you, so I’m sorry if you can’t be the black sheep anymore. There’s no room for it. You have a reputation to uphold here.”
My heart is thudding in my brain so hard I can barely hear her. “I wasn’t the black sheep,” I say even though I know it’s true. I was always lesser compared to Juliet, and now my mother hates me for it.
“All I wanted was for both my daughters to follow in my footsteps. Juliet would have made an excellent politician, she was caring, kind, beautiful, smart. She could charm anyone into doing anything. She could have carried on the legacy of strong women in male-dominated roles.”
“I’m a fucking cook, mom!” I’m nearly yelling. The couple on the nearest balcony are looking at me curiously. I lower my voice, “I fought to be in the position I’m in right now, I’ve been fighting my whole life in a male-dominated work force.”
“And see what good that did you.”
“What?”
“I don’t know what you did at your last job, but I know you got fired, Veronica, and I know you screwed up.”
My lips clamp shut. How could she know?
“And it doesn’t matter,” she goes on. “We all make mistakes and you’re there fixing yours. Stay a year, get some new experience you can put on your resume, and then get out and come home.”
Home? I know I haven’t been here long, but this already starting to feel like home. And it’s one place where I don’t have to deal with the likes of my mother except for the occasional phone call. She may have wanted me to come out here in an effort to hide me but I’m not so eager to go back anytime soon.
“Maybe I’ll stay here forever,” I tell her. “It’s not a bad life.”
“Suit yourself,” she says, “if you want to be on a sinking ship.”
“What does that mean?”
“Don’t forget that your father and I own that hotel as much as Logan does. The thing isn’t making money, not like it was with Juliet. The moment it looks like it’s going under, we’re pulling out.”
Good lord. My parents really do hate him that much.
As if she can hear my thoughts, she adds, “He made fools of us, a fool of Juliet. He’s not family. He’s nothing. Just an opportunity for the time being.”
Then the phone crackles and like magic the call is mercifully dropped.
I’m left reeling. I quickly turn the power off my phone in case she calls back, and place it on the table, my hands braced on the edge. Even the sweet breeze coming off the ocean and the birdsong from the trees is doing nothing to shake some sense into me.
Normally I would have agreed with my mother on all of that, would have been fueled by the same indignation against Logan. After all, I felt the exact same when I landed here.
But something has changed in me since I’ve become a part of Moonwater. I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s not just the surfing lesson last week, it’s the strange sense of ease I feel now being around him. We’re interacting more and even though it’s usually brief, there’s some kind of unspoken understanding between us, a simmering connection that’s getting harder to ignore.
And sometimes I wonder if it’s a little more than that. I’ll catch myself staring at him some days, my eyes lingering on the rugged lines of his face, the breadth of his shoulders. It’s not a conscious decision, I’m not waxing on in my head about how gorgeous he can be. But I’m still drawn to him in ways that I really shouldn’t be. There are a million valid reasons to never think of Logan that way, but the more I tell myself he’s off-limits, the more I shame myself, the more I want to do it.