Southern Sinner (North Carolina Highlands 3)

“Because.” I sniff. “It will end badly. I know Hank is different than Dan. Probably one of the many reasons I’m so damn attracted to him. But what if I’m not different? It takes two to tango—my marriage ended because of failures on both our parts. What if my perfectionism rears its ugly head again? I am very, very bad at giving myself grace.”

“Were,” Kate corrects. “You were very bad at giving yourself grace.”

It’s my turn to shrug. “Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, I’m not willing to risk it.” I bring my free hand down on the table. “Goddamn it. I was happy. So happy before I met Hank. I almost hate him for turning my world inside out, you know?”

Lauren gives my hand a squeeze. “Don’t hate him.”

“I could never actually hate Hank.”

“Because of the biceps,” she teases.

“And the dancing,” Kate says.

“And that dimple,” Lauren adds.

I shake my head, and my face crumples.

“Oh, honey, we didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” I breathe. “You guys are missing the best stuff anyway.”

“Like his dick?”

“Ooooh, or his butt? I bet he’s got the best, most biteable butt ever.”

If only they knew about the marks he left from biting me. “His butt’s pretty great, yeah. But I was thinking more along the lines of his generosity and how he takes care of the people he loves.”

“Aw,” Lauren says.

“So, here’s the thing,” Kate says softly. “You say you’re not different. But I say you are. I say you’ve changed completely since you left Dan.”

“Yeah?” Another sniffle. “How so?”

She hands me a napkin, which I use to blot my eyes. “In lots of ways. You make yourself a priority. You’ve always known what you wanted. But now you actually say what you want. You ask for what you need to get it. And you let yourself have it, whatever it may be—success, or rest, or, hey, some vodka at nine in the morning. At the end of the day, I think you’ve stopped hating yourself. You love you too much to ever let expectations run roughshod over your life again. Men too—you know better than to put yourself last when you’re with one.”

My breath catches as the stuff inside my chest stops working for a minute. I imagine my organs floating through my torso, suspended in quiet disbelief.

What Kate’s saying feels right. Thrillingly, frighteningly right.

I do ask for what I want. Especially when I’m with Hank. Thinking back on it, I wasn’t afraid to take up space from the very beginning:

I want you to come dancing.

Blackjack, then bed.

Cold. Iced almond milk latte, please.

I want a place on the farm’s menu.

Don’t fucking stop. Keep your tongue there. Yessss.

There’s something we haven’t tried. I want to do it with you.

The best part is that he reciprocated my effort. He was up front about what he wanted too.

“Talk to us,” Kate says gently. “I can see those wheels turning.”

I shake my head, stunned. “I’m just thinking about how I felt with Hank. I’m unafraid to just be myself, you know? I remember trying so hard to be a good girl with Dan, whatever being good means. Small, I guess? Quiet? Easygoing? With Hank, though, I’m just me. I’m loud. I’m lewd. Like, downright dirty. I don’t let the fear of inconveniencing him stop me from putting my desires out there, which makes everything messy.” I blink, the realization bowling me over. “But he likes the mess. My God. He likes the mess.”

Lauren lifts an eyebrow. “I feel like there’s a good story behind that sentence.”

“I won’t go into details,” I reply, the weight on my chest dissolving bit by bit with every heartbeat. “But yeah, it involved a bar, broken bottles, and bodily fluids.”

Kate’s eyes sparkle. “Hot.”

“You sure you don’t wanna tell us more?” Lauren says.

I laugh, feeling light-headed. “Sorry, ladies, but what happens on Blue Mountain stays on Blue Mountain.”

“Fair enough.” Lauren squeezes my hand again. “But I’m glad you’re seeing what we see. I know you’ve worked really, really hard to figure yourself out over the past few years.”

“Watching your transformation has been an absolute joy,” Kate says.

I let her words sink in. Of course I know I’ve changed since leaving Dan. But I hadn’t realized I’ve finally, finally done what I set out to do in my thirties.

I really have stopped hating myself.

Because someone who doesn’t hate herself isn’t dependent on other people’s approval. She doesn’t need to grind herself to dust or lose weight to earn her place, just like she doesn’t have to set herself on fire to keep everyone else warm.

My value isn’t in service to others.

It’s in service to myself. My wholeness. My contentment. My well-being.

“But what if I slip backward?” I ask. “There’s no guarantee I won’t go back to who I was.”

Kate looks at me, expression smooth with certainty. “That’s not going to happen. Sure, being tender with yourself is a life-long practice. I don’t think anyone ever perfects it. But the important thing is you’ve learned not only how to love yourself but also why it’s important. That kind of wisdom never leaves you.”