Page 51 of The Heart That Breaks
I want to argue, convince her she’s wrong about us, but I can tell from the look on her face it won’t do any good. A hard rock of emotion settles on my chest. I take a step back and turn for the door, leaving the room without saying another word, because I know if I do, I’ll make a complete fool of myself.
*
Ann-Elizabeth
MAMA’S INSURANCE COMPANY doesn’t approve my staying in the hospital overnight even though Dr. Martin was furious about it. Instead, it was recommended that I see my GP in the morning as a follow up.
“That’s what I get for working all these years to have insurance,” Mama says, her hands tight on the steering wheel as we pull out of the parking lot and wait for the traffic light to turn green. Henry is standing on the back seat, his head between us. Every few seconds, he licks my cheek and whines a little, as if he’s not convinced I’m all right and needs to double check.
I rub him under the chin, staring out the window at the street with no other traffic. “It’s okay. I didn’t need to stay anyway.”
“This whole thing is my fault,” Mama says, her voice low and filled with self-loathing. “He could have killed you.”
“He didn’t. We’ll let the police take care of it.”
“They won’t do anything. He’ll talk his way out of it.”
“Maybe not.”
We’ve cleared the second stoplight when Mama says, “When I think of what could have happened to you, I don’t know that I can forgive myself.”
“I forgive you,” I say, reaching over to cover her hand with mine.
Her voice is raspy when she says, “So you and Nathan are friends, huh?”
I hear the hope in the question and say, “Just friends, Mama.”
“I got a different feeling from him.”
“Mama.”
“Whaaat?”
“It’s not going to happen.”
“He sure seems nice.”
“He is. Too nice for me.” Even as I say the words, I feel the break in my heart, an actual pain that makes me draw in a quick, sharp breath.
She gives me a long look. “Of course he’s not too nice for you.”
“We’re just too different.”
She’s quiet for a string of moments, before saying, “You don’t think you’re good enough for him?”
I shrug, trying to look as if it doesn’t matter. “He’s got a lot going for him.”
“And you don’t?”
“Can we agree you might be prejudiced?”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t know talent when I hear it.”
“A lot of people have talent.”
“But not many of them have the drive to do something with it. You do.”
“His dad’s a famous songwriter.”
