Say Yes (Nostalgic Summer Romance)

I sniffed, because somehow, the realization hurt as much as it freed me.

“Turn around and look at your painting again,” he said, and when I did, it all made sense. I no longer saw the marred lines of his fingers in the paint as a nuisance. I saw them as a savior. I saw endless possibilities. And beneath them, I only saw a painting that fell short in every possible way, that — had I have finished it the way I wanted to — would have just been another oil painting of a field of sunflowers that anyone with technical training could have painted.

Anyone.

It didn’t leave a mark, it didn’t have a soul or a style that was my own.

When I looked back at Liam, my eyes welled with tears again. “This is so hard.”

He smirked, grabbing my hand and leading me over to my bed. He sat us down on the edge, wiping the tears off my cheeks before he framed my face in his hands.

“Why do you feel the need to be perfect?”

I closed my eyes, releasing another tiny river of tears as my chest split open at the truth that wanted to pour out of me just the same.

“Because I never can be.”

When I opened my eyes again, Liam was frowning, his head tilted as he tried to figure out what I was trying to say.

I held up my right hand between us, wiggling my fingers and nubbins. The words I’d never spoken aloud to anyone felt like steel bars around my heart, each beat throttled, each breath too tight.

“I’m defective,” I whispered. “I have been my whole life. I never stood a chance to be perfect in anything, in any way, because of how I was born. I’ll never be the perfect daughter, or the perfect athlete, or the perfect wife.” A sob choked me with that admission. “Or the perfect mother,” I whispered through the tears. Finally, my eyes found Liam’s again, and the pain reflected in his irises only made it easier for me to break. “So, I try to be the perfect artist, because it’s the only thing I actually think I might be able to do.”

Liam swallowed, shaking his head as his hands tightened where he held me. “Jesus, Harley.”

“I know,” I said, shaking my head and looking at my lap. “It’s stupid.”

“No. It’s not stupid. Everything you feel is valid. It’s real. Which is why it hurts so damn much.”

I nodded, pressing my lips together to fight against another wave of tears.

“And now, my parents are having a baby. I should be excited, Liam. I should be happy.” Emotion warped my face again, and I shook my head against another wave of tears. “But all I can think about is how they waited until I was gone to try again, how I was too much to handle, and how they’re probably thinking maybe this time we can get it right.”

Liam let out a long, slow breath, his hands rubbing my arms. “It’s okay to feel that way.”

“It’s awful.”

“I have to tell you something,” he said, leaning down until I looked at him again. “You’re right.”

The pain in my chest was too much to bear.

“You’re right. You’re not perfect,” he continued. “You’re far from it. But you know what else? Perfect is boring. Perfect is safe. Perfect is stress and anxiety and pretending like you have some sort of control over life, when the truth is, none of us do.”

He shook his head, a little smile on his lips as he swiped his thumb across the line of my jaw.

“Perfect is the last thing I want in a daughter or wife or the mother of my child. And it’s the last thing I wish for you. Because you, Harley Chambers, are so goddamn beautiful and smart and charming and funny and stubborn and maddening, that it would be a shame — no, a crime — for perfection to take all that away.”

Something between a laugh and a sob left my chest, and Liam pulled me in closer, his lips hovering over mine.

“I know I’m not much older than you, but what happened with…” He swallowed. “What I have learned is that nothing is promised. Nothing. I don’t believe in love or hate or good luck or bad luck or mistakes, and I most certainly don’t believe in perfection. Because life is just that — life. It’s hard most days. Some days, it’s okay. And in the end, you only have this very moment. There’s no sense worrying about impressing other people or driving yourself crazy trying to be something or do something when right now, today, here,” he whispered, squeezing my hands in his. “This is it. Let go of that desire to be something else and find whatever joy you can in being exactly who you are. Do it now,” he added. “While you still have breath in your lungs.”