She stays silent.
“But . . . ?” I ask.
She hesitates.
“Come on, Mother, you have come here for a reason today. What is it?”
“Tristan . . .” She pauses. “Why do you think you like Claire?”
“I don’t like her, Mom. I love her.”
She inhales sharply. “Tris.” She stands and walks to the window and stares out over the city. “Ever since you were a child, you have had a very strong personality trait.”
I frown as I listen.
“And so far in business, it has served you well.”
I stay silent.
“But now I feel I must make you aware of it, because I fear it is affecting you personally.”
“What are you talking about, Mom?” I sigh, annoyed.
She turns to me. “Tristan, you like to fix things.”
I frown harder. What?
“You don’t destroy companies; you buy them to fix them. It is your natural ability to sense when something needs you. You have always been like this, even when you were a tiny little boy. You are attracted to people who need help.”
I stare at her.
“Think about it. The staff that you yourself hire always have an issue that they need to overcome.”
My mind instantly goes to Fletcher.
“The companies that you want always are in trouble.”
“That’s my job, Mom.”
“No, Tristan, nobody ever told you that you need to buy companies in trouble. You took that on yourself. Are you in love with Claire because she needs you to fix her?”
“No,” I snap, annoyed.
“Her sons, do they have problems? Because I can guarantee the bigger the problems they have, the more you will be attracted to them.”
I clench my jaw as I watch her.
“Every girlfriend you have ever had has needed fixing . . . except Mary.”
My nostrils flair at the mention of her name. Mary was my second girlfriend. I grieved her for years after we broke up.
“You loved Mary, Tristan. With all your heart you loved her. But she didn’t need fixing, so you felt that you had to leave her.”
I drop my head and stare at the carpet as a piece of my puzzle falls into place . . . the world begins to spin . . . is she right?
“Why do you think you were so heartbroken breaking up with her? And yet you couldn’t take her back,” Mom says. “Could you?”
My eyes search hers.