The next day passed in a blur with Dallas and I keeping busy without speaking to each other. I’d given him back the leather jacket he’d loaned me in a very awkward exchange.
I wasn’t any closer to a decision on working at the bank, either.
On Wednesday morning, I started crying after seeing the empty box of Jingle Bells Bakery’s cinnamon rolls in the dumpster and knew it was time to get some advice. So, I called the one woman who had always been there for me.
Ms. King opened her bright blue front door with a smile, but she wore a tired expression and new lines were etched around her nose and lips. My heart sank with worry as I handed her the gift of beauty supplies I’d wrapped for her.
She held the door open wider. “So good to see you, Morgan. Come in.”
“I brought you something to go under the tree,” I said.
She reached out, her swollen fingers brushing mine and worry ate at my heart. She was one of the reasons I’d come home, one of the reasons I wanted to be home, and she’d soon be leaving us. I would appreciate every minute with her before that time came.
She took the gift, pleasure lighting her eyes. “That’s thoughtful of you.”
I stepped into her house and followed her into the living room. She set the present below the twinkling Christmas tree. “Would you like some hot tea? I just set the kettle.”
I surveyed her weary face. “I can get it. The kettle’s on you said?”
She nodded and bustled past me. “I’m not so ill that I can’t serve a guest in my house. Sit and I’ll bring a cup to you.”
I took a seat as instructed and stared at the Christmas tree. Even though it had been less than two weeks, it felt like a lifetime had passed between the day I’d brought that tree here and now. Ms. King came back in, carrying an exquisitely arranged tray that she set down on the coffee table.
She took a seat, patting her silver hair back into place and smoothing invisible wrinkles from her silk blouse and long skirt before she said, “I heard about your accident. Are you okay?”
I sighed. “Yes, I’m fine. Let me pour please.”
I took the cozy-wrapped teapot and filled a cup two-thirds of the way full before passing it to her. I poured myself a cup as well, doctoring it with cream and sugar.
Ms. King was far from ordinary or predictable. That was one of the things that drew others to her. She did things her own way and always had. Even tea. I’ll admit, though, that the first time she’d set to making hot tea I’d been pretty sure she was ruining perfectly good tea and I’d been reluctant to drink it. Later, I’d been pleasantly surprised to find that I liked tea various ways. She’d always been a teacher and mentor for me. I needed her advice now more than ever.
I lifted the cup to my lips and let a swallow of the steaming, sweet and milky liquid flow into my mouth and throat. “My mom has been more controlling than ever since the accident. I’m to blame for falling into the river Monday night. I should’ve been paying more attention that close to the edge.” I sighed. “My mom blames Dallas, though. As always.”
Ms. King picked up a plate that held sugar wafers and held it out until I took one. Then she set the plate down. “I’m sure your mom is just upset that she couldn’t protect you.”
“You really think so?” Tears blurred my vision. “I feel like I can’t live up to her expectations. She doesn’t see me as anyone, but the daughter who isn’t Grace.”
Ms. King shook her head. “You’re interpreting her actions wrong.”
My mouth fell open. “I’m not wrong, Ms. King. I fell into the river and all she could talk about was Grace and how she wanted to work at their bank, so I should want to work at the bank. She wants me to be the daughter she loved most.”
Ms. King sipped her tea. Her eyes studied me over the rim of her cup and when she put it down she leaned forward. “Is that what you really think, Morgan? Your dear mother lost a child from a terrible accident. For the rest of your life, she’ll be afraid to lose you, too. That’s the control you’re feeling, her attempts to protect you.”
I lowered my gaze. “You don’t understand, Ms. King . . .”
“Hear me out.” Ms. King’s gentle hand rested on my arm. “What’s happening right now? You opened your own beauty salon. You’re also dating Dallas—and yes I heard about that. Both of these things are proof that you’re slipping away from her.”
I stared at her, numbly. “Go on.”
“You’re not a mother yet, so you don’t know what it feels like to lose a child, and you don’t have to have a child die to lose one. They leave and grow up, because that’s what they’re supposed to do. They make their own decisions and live their own lives, leaving their parents’ control. She doesn’t want to lose you.”
I watched her sit back and bite into her cookie. Her gaze didn’t waver. I mulled over what she had said. Could that be the whole crux of it? Was my mom trying to control me because she’s afraid of losing me?
I looked up. “I don’t know how to make her stop comparing me to Grace.”
“She’ll do what she’ll do, but you don’t have to react to it.” Ms. King picked her cup up again. Her slender fingers were pale as she brought the rim to her lips and took a sip. “You just be yourself, Morgan. Your mom will adjust.”
I nibbled on the cookie, which was sweet and crisp. “What if she doesn’t?”
“Then that’s her issue.” Ms. King stood and came to sit beside me on the sofa. Her arms went around me and I leaned into that embrace. “Morgan you have to live your life and live it for you. It’s not enough to wake up in the morning and go about your day, living for someone else. You have to do what’s in your heart. We all do.”
My eyes watered. “I don’t know.”
She gave my shoulder a squeeze before letting go. “Would you be happy if you did exactly what your mom wants and went to work at the bank?”
I wiped my eyes. “No.”
“Then why do it?” she asked, pulling out a lace handkerchief and handing it to me. “Your mom lost her daughter. You lost a sister. But nobody is trying to live their life to make up for your pain, are they? Nobody can ease your loss, just like you can’t ease your mother’s loss. No matter how hard you might try. Your mom is living her life the way she wants to, right?”
My mom loved her life. She was happy in it. Everything she did was because it made her happy. I wanted to do the very same thing. I hadn’t been living my life for me. I’d spent the better part of my twenties doing exactly what Ms. King had said, living my life to try to make up for my mom’s loss. I’d neatly stacked my days the way she wanted, but I hadn’t been living the life I wanted. I hadn’t been truly happy.
I’d finally figured out what made me feel alive: My relationship with Dallas. Running my beauty salon. Being home in Christmas Mountain again.
All of these things made me truly happy. I’d felt more alive these past few weeks than I had in the past twenty years. I didn’t want to lose that feeling. And the only one who could ensure I wouldn’t lose the life I’d chosen was me.