Wright with Benefits

I knocked on the door, unannounced, and a minute later, my mom pulled it open. She was already in her nightgown.

“Jordan?” she said in surprise. “Everything all right? I thought the party would be going for a few more hours.”

“I thought so, too.”

She frowned at my choice of words. “Well, come inside and tell me about it.”

I entered her house, happy for once for the cozy ’70s-era home. It felt lived in. It felt like my mom, and that was exactly what I needed.

“Do you want a drink? Coffee? Tea?”

“I’m okay.”

“Well, I’m going to have some tea. I’ll make you a mug.”

I nodded, falling down onto her overstuffed couch. It even smelled like home. Like I could curl up here on her sofa with tea and soup and feel better. Except I wasn’t sick and everything that hurt, I’d done to myself.

My mom returned with tea and passed one to me. “Now, what happened with the party?”

“Someone leaked that Campbell was going to be there, and we hit overcapacity. Then I guess the cops were called, and they sent everyone home.”

“Oh dear,” my mom said. “What part of that explains your broken knuckles?”

Never could get anything past her. “I might have gotten into an altercation with Annie’s ex-boyfriend.”

My mom sighed, setting her tea aside. “How many times do I have to tell you that settling things with your fists helps nothing?”

“At least one more time, apparently,” I said with a grimace that bordered on a smile.

“And how is Annie?”

“I think…we might have broken up.”

“You think?”

I set down the tea and put my head in my hands. “I screwed up. I thought I was doing the right thing. She wanted to go away for her residency, and I didn’t want her to give up on her dream. So, I made a total ass of myself and ended it.”

“Oh Jordan…”

“I’m just like Dad. I fuck up everything.”

My mom sighed softly and then came to sit next to me. She put an arm around my shoulders and patted my knee. “Look at me.”

With concerted effort, I turned to look at my mom.

“You are not just like your dad. And even if you were, that isn’t a bad thing.”

I laughed derisively. “How can you say that?”

“Because I fell in love with him and I married him.”

“He was horrible to you!”

“Later in life, we had our differences, but I still refuse to believe that Owen is every part the villain that he has always been painted. He wasn’t loved as much as his older brother, who got the bulk of Wright Construction. He was pushed to Canada, ostensibly to get him out of the picture. He didn’t know what love was, and so he made a lot of wrong choices. It doesn’t excuse the mistakes he made, but it gives a clearer picture as to who he is.”

“But…he’s awful. I have his hot-blooded anger and his quick-fuse temper and the addictive personality. Everything that is wrong with me is him.”

“Also, nearly everything that is good in you is him, too,” she reminded me.

“No,” I said. “Everything good, I got from you.”

“Your business sense comes from your father. Your protective nature comes from your father. Your ability to love so openly and quickly comes from your father.”

“That’s different.”

She laughed. “You can’t make your dad who you want him to be. He’s multidimensional. He has layers. There’s more to him than you give him credit for. And more to you than you give yourself credit for. What happened tonight was a mistake. But we don’t live our life by our mistakes and failures. We learn from them. Owen did, and you will, too.”

“Do you still love him?” I breathed. A question I’d never asked my mom.

“With my whole heart.” She stared down at her hands. “But it didn’t work out that way in the end. And sometimes, that’s how it happens.”

“I love you, Mom,” I said, pulling her into a hug.

She squeezed me tight. “I love you, too.” When she released me, she had that glint in her eye that I knew all too well. “But you’d better figure out how to make this up to Annie because I really like her.”

I shook my head. “She’s never going to talk to me again.”

“I bet she will.”

“I wouldn’t if I were in her shoes.”

“You were wrong. You know you were wrong. You just have to admit that and make it up to her.”

“How could I possibly make this up to her?”

“Might I suggest the trifecta: flowers, chocolate, and a lot of groveling.”

I laughed because there was nothing else to do. “Do you think that will work?”

“I think that she loves you, and if you’re sincere, she’ll listen.”

“She doesn’t love me,” I whispered.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” my mom said. “The important thing right now is, how do you feel about her?”