Page 71 of The Producer: Aaron

The idea of a bed populated by me, Aaron, and my mother is the most disgusting image I can think of. And from her expression, Iunderstand it’s the same for her.

“He told you about everything,” she says, as if afraid of what he might have told me.

“More or less. What did you think? When he found out whose daughter I am, he got angry. He thought I had approached him for some kind of revenge. He told me you went there when Dad died to sue them, and then he convinced you not to file the lawsuit,” I say, not knowing where to start this conversation.

Sixteen years have passed. It is something so far away that it could have happened in another life, but it still happened, and I cannot ignore it.

“Broadly speaking, that’s how it went,” she mumbles as she pours the herbal tea into the cups.

“And are you upset because we are dating? Can we finally talk about it without you getting angry or sad?” I implore her.

It’s a conversation I’ve been waiting to have since I was a teenager. She cannot refuse to communicate with me on the subject, even if she feels sad about reminiscing about those days. Because considering how my mother raised me, I’m sure she’s dying to get this burden off her chest. She always tried to protect me from the aching pain of my father’s death, but I’m an adult now. I can deal with my emotions.

“No, I’m not sad. And I’m not angry, either. We survived just fine without the money we could have gotten with that lawsuit. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m worried about you.”

I observe her for several moments, trying to understand what is going through her head. She first saw something good in Aaron because otherwise she wouldn’t have dropped that lawsuit. She is more stubborn than me, that’s something I got from her, so I don’t understand all this concern.

“Because of the age difference?” It’s a reasonable apprehension for a mother, but she shakes her head.

“That’s not what worries me. I mean, it’s not the main reason. It’s his job, his family. I saw him when I got there. I saw how that job meant everything to him. He did everything to keep his father happy, even convince a widow to go home and suck it up. I don’t want you with a man that will put his career before you,” she admits, fishing a cookie from the plate and coming to sit next to me.

“Actually, we’re both very busy with our careers, but we manage to carve out time for ourselves. We often stay at home to read or watch TV, even if it is only for a few hours. Living under the same roof it’s easier to meet, even if it’s just while brushing our teeth before going to sleep. His career is now more than solid. He doesn’t need to elbow anyone to make his way. He’s already the biggest fish in the tank,” I explain, seeing her frowning.

She shakes her head and inhales thoroughly. I see that concern that makes those little wrinkles appear between her eyes. Her eyebrows furrow, and she looks worried.

“Didn’t you rush a little moving in with him? Isn’t it better if you go out and have fun with your friends instead of being a good housewife? You live with a man, Dakota. You’re only twenty-four!” The plea in her voice makes me uncomfortable.

“Friends? What friends, Mom? You know that I have always been terrible at making friends with my peers. I was the one who had lunch locked in a bathroom because all the tables in the cafeteria were occupied, and I didn’t dare ask my classmates if the seat next to them was free. Living in Hollywood doesn’t help you find friends and in all honesty, I feel good with Aaron. Better than with guys my age. I know it sounds absurd, but I havemore in common with Aaron than with much younger people. And then you, at my age, already had a daughter. You more than anyone else should know that sometimes ‘having fun with friends’ is not all you want in your twenties.”

She inhales deeply and shakes her head. “I suppose this is my fault. I had to push you harder to play with kids your age instead of indulging you and letting you around us adults. Do you really have no friends in Los Angeles?”

“I don’t mind how I grew up. I don’t feel the lack of having frivolous fun. I like the stability I’ve had since living with Aaron. It makes me feel safe and alive at the same time. And for the friends part, I’m working on it. I’m trying to talk more with my colleagues and not hold back when they invite me out. It’s not easy, and I feel very insecure, but I’m trying. Aaron helps me a lot in this, to open up to others,” I confess, thinking back to my birthday and how he was by my side all evening. He always understood where I wanted to go with my conversations and helped me navigate them without the help of alcohol.

“Are you in love with him?” she asks with a sweetness in her eyes that I recognize. It’s the one she has when she is afraid for me but lets me live my life, make mistakes, and try again until I get what I want. She suffers from seeing me fall, but she is always ready to reach out her hand when I have trouble getting up.

“I think so…” I think about it for a moment, and the feeling that expands in my chest reassures me. “Yes, I’m in love with Aaron.”

“Are you happy?” The smile on her lips is that of a mother who hopes for the best for her daughter.

“Yes.” I reciprocate her smile because I really am.

We sip our tea in silence then while munching on my mother’s homemade cookies. If there’s one thing I didn’t take from her,it’s how to cook. Despite her trying to teach me hundreds of times how to juggle the stove, I never manage to pull off anything decent.

“I hope you are right about him. He was very convincing and he used the right words. I’m scared he is convincing you that everything is fine when it’s not,” she mumbles, worried after a long silence.

I study her, her serious face and her mouth set in a stubborn line.

“Did you know he held Dad on that scaffold until the firefighter came? He climbed it risking his life trying to save Dad.”

She looks at me surprised and a bit sad.

“Are you serious? He never told me something like that.”

I wrinkle my forehead and observe her, hoping she will be ready for this kind of conversation.

“Maybe because you were a young widow grieving her husband and he didn’t want to give you a graphic visual of Dad’s last breath, but this is what he did. He tried to save him. I asked about the insurance thing. From what he told me, it was Dad’s company who did the wrong paperwork. You would have lost that lawsuit, but he felt guilty, and he started to send us those checks. Those are literally part of his paycheck in the beginning of his career,” I explain and she seems to soften.

“I knew it wasn’t their fault with the insurance, but I was hurting, scared to raise you alone, and I wanted to find someone to blame. They seemed rich enough to not sink if they had to pay,” she admits.

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