“How’s that?”
She shrugs. “Look, Ali. You never got involved with anyone seriously since Hayden. Why?”
“Because they weren’t good enough for Huxley.”
“Exactly. But you let your guard down with Barrett.” She takes a deep breath. “You’re a fantastic mother. I’m so proud to watch you with Hux and how you put him before anything and everyone. It just fills my heart with so much pride. I’ll admit, when I heard you were seeing Barrett, I was a little anxious. He has quite a reputation.”
“I know,” I laugh.
“But if you trusted him enough to let him around my grandson, then that’s enough for me.” She considers her next words. “He talks about him. Says he likes him and that he talks to him like he matters.”
“He’s so good with Huxley,” I say, my heart brimming in my chest.
She takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “You have to trust yourself. Believe i
n yourself.”
“That’s what I tell Barrett.”
“What?”
“To believe in himself. To know he can do things his way and win.”
“Well, smarty-pants, take your own advice. Believe in yourself and believe in him enough to fight alongside him. Did you ever think that maybe no one has believed in him before?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course they have. He’s supported by everyone. His entire family turns out to support him.”
“Supporting someone and believing in them are two different things, Alison.”
I gaze back at the sunset and think about what she said. The longer I mull it over, the more right she seems.
“I’m going to take off,” she says.
“We need to leave soon for Huxley’s program at school. You sure you don’t want to come?”
She sighs. “I wish I could, honey. But your father will be home shortly and I really want to have a hot meal ready for him when he gets in.”
“Okay.” I watch her walk to the door. “Thanks, Mom. For everything.”
“It’s what I’m here for.”
The door shuts behind her as I curl back up on the sofa. I wonder what life would be like with Barrett. How much of my daily life would change? How would I go about working and going to school if I was living with him?
Could I live with him? Without some sort of guarantee that things would work out? Do I want to be that girl that demands a guarantee?
My anxiety begins to spiral out of control when his name pops up on my phone. I swipe the screen.
“Hey, you,” I say.
“Hey, baby. How’s your day?”
His voice is gruff and I can hear frustration laced through every syllable. It pings at my heart.
“Good. But how was yours? You sound tired.”
He huffs a laugh. “Tired. Pissed off. Frustrated.”
“Why?”