“Even though I’m old now.”
Her face falls slightly. “You are not old, Kayla. I am old.”
I sigh. “I’m sorry…I don’t mean that. It’s just, I felt like at this age I would have had my shi…my stuff sorted out. My life on track.”
“Your life is on the track it is meant to be on. This is not a contest or a race. Don’t compare yourself to others, only to the person you were yesterday.”
Yeah, but how do I explain that sometimes I feel worse than the person I was yesterday? Like I’m spinning my wheels before going backward. Losing character instead of gaining it?
But I don’t want to trouble my mother with that. I try not to trouble myself with those kinds of thoughts either, it’s just that they sneak up on you sometimes.
“I know,” I tell her. “I guess it’s never too late.”
“No, it’s not,” she says. “Just remember to keep an open mind. To take chances.”
I manage a smile. “Oh, believe me, I do.”
She studies me for a moment, seeing something inside me. I’m not sure what it is.
“I loved your father very much,” she says, her needles clacking against each other. The statement seems to come out of left field. “Very, very much.”
“I know you did. And he loved you.”
“He still does.” She gives me the sweetest, saddest smile. “Even though he’s changed his residency to heaven, I still hear from him from time to time. I know he’s okay. I know he’s waiting for me.”
My eyes begin to water. We don’t talk about my dad too much, maybe because every time he’s mentioned, the tears start to flow. My mother doesn’t cry though. She takes it all so gracefully, even though I know how sad she is, how half of her soul is missing.
“Don’t cry, sweetie,” she says gently and leans over, putting her hand on mine. “It’s okay, really. I’m just telling you because I don’t want you to be afraid of love.”
“I’m not afraid of love,” I say defensively, wiping a tear away with the palm of my hand.
She gives me a thin smile. “It’s been a few years since Kyle.”
Freaking Kyle. Why is she bringing him up? Kyle is my ex. Ex-fiancé. We started dating in college and stayed together for a long time after that. But things just weren’t working between us. There wasn’t anything wrong with Kyle, it was just that…I don’t know, I guess I got cold feet. But it wasn’t because I was afraid of love. He just wasn’t what I wanted from life.
“I’m happy, Mom,” I reassure her. “I loved Kyle, too. He just wasn’t the one.”
“Oh, I know he wasn’t. I know that. You did the right thing. But when you do meet the right one, I just don’t want you to run away. I don’t want you to be scared. Love is something you have to fight for.”
I roll my eyes. “Once again, Mom, I’m not afraid of love. I love love!”
It’s just that I happen to love fun and sex more.
She watches me closely. “Good. I’m just trying to say that even though I love your father and I’ll never be the same without him, the bad outweighs the good. Even if I knew I would lose him, I would have still fallen in love. I don’t regret a thing. I just want you to know, to realize, that even if you lose love, it’s never really gone. It stays in you forever. The risks of love are always worth it.”
I sigh, feeling a brick in my chest. “Okay, okay,” I say, but I’m not sure what else there is to add. I know how it must look to my mother, always perpetually single ever since I left Kyle. But I swear, I’m not afraid of love. There’s just no one out there for me and I’ve made peace with that. If you can’t find a man to share your heart with, well…share your vagina with him instead.
Of course, at the moment I’m not doing that either. Maybe that’s why I’m getting so worked up and frustrated about life.
I leave my mom’s and head back into the city, my mind running over her words. She tells me not to be afraid of love, but it blows my mind how she can even say that. She said she would never be the same without my father…how can that not scare you? How can you just keep going with that loss, believing in love even when it’s left you? The amount of hope and faith involved is staggering.
That night, I barely sleep a wink. It isn’t just what my mother said. It’s my nerves. Stupid nerves. I can’t remember the last time I was nervous. I don’t get nervous.
And yet here I am, a nervous pervous, thinking about the interview tomorrow, feeling all the pressure that wasn’t there before.
I’m still anxious when I wake up. I head into work, feeling like I swallowed a ball of electricity. I’m like this all the way until before lunch, then it intensifies until I’m practically jumping out of my skin.
I have to admit, the excitement, even over something so simple, is intoxicating. I decide to roll with it, to stay positive. I’m going to win this man over. I’m going to get the best interview of my life. Well, so far, the only interview of my life.
I grab my bag and head to the washroom to make sure I’m looking just right. I’m wearing skinny black capri pants with zebra print loafers, and an eggplant silk blouse that shows just a hint of what little cleavage I have. My hair is loose today, long and wavy, and so shiny it resembles a pool of oil (thanks to me going overboard this morning with hair glosser). My dad was from Iceland (that’s actually where my parents met), and while I inherited my mother’s thick black hair, I also inherited his wavy texture that goes AWOL when it’s humid.