The Jock Script (The Script Club 3)
I knocked on her door, straightening my collar at the telltale sound of a lock unlatching.
“Darling, come in.” She hugged me quickly, relocked the door, and floated ahead of me through the dimly lit reception area to her office.
Sunlight glinted off the glass-topped coffee table, sending a rainbow prism over the tastefully arranged knickknacks and the silver picture frame. I perched on the cushion of the light-blue sofa, leaning forward to study the photo. I set it down almost immediately, adjusting it so it faced the wall. Mom must have noticed. She raised her brow inquisitively as she sat across from me.
“Thank you for meeting me,” I said stiffly. “I won’t take up much of your time, but I need some advice.”
“You mentioned that. What can I do?”
“Well…remember when you suggested the three-part coming-out scenario?”
“Yes, of course. For your friend.” She tilted her head and smiled. “You didn’t say, but I’m assuming he was the one who put the bookcase together. Blake, right?”
“Yes. That was him. And um…”
“Did something happen to him?”
“No, he’s fine. He’s in a quasi-out state at the moment…considering his options and possible repercussions. I think,” I added, narrowing my eyes thoughtfully. “I told him he should do that part alone.”
“Okay…that’s probably a good thing,” she said softly before asking the question I drove from Pasadena to Beverly Hills to hear. “How does that make you feel?”
“Terrible.”
“Why?”
“Because I want something…else.”
“From him?” she prodded.
“Yes, but that’s selfish. I know I did the right thing. I should feel good about that, at least.” I adjusted my glasses and continued. “I don’t feel good. I feel awful. Since you’re a professional, I hoped you’d have insight into how to cope with…feeling this way.”
Mom pushed her long hair over her shoulder and studied me for a long moment, her eyes suspiciously…wet. “I’m sorry you’re hurting, my love.”
I squinted at her. “Are you upset?”
“Upset? A little. It hurts me to know you’re hurting. I love you. I don’t want you to be sad,” she replied gently.
“Oh. This was a mistake and a miscalculation on my part.” I hopped to my feet and rolled my shoulders. “I apologize for taking time from your day. I didn’t mean to cause you anguish or—”
“Asher, stop. Sit down. Please.”
I obeyed, silently berating myself for my stupidity. I couldn’t understand why she’d be upset on my behalf. It seemed so…illogical. She’d only met Blake once for a few minutes, and I’d purposely never spoken about him afterward.
“Mother, I was hoping you could offer impartial advice. That’s what professionals do, correct? I didn’t intend to upset you, and I don’t know where I can buy flowers on a Sunday at such short notice to make up for my faux pas. Although, Whole Foods has a nice selection. Maybe I can—”
“No.”
I started at her sharp tone. “Okay…”
“Asher, look at me. And please listen.”
“I’m listening.”
“I don’t need flowers. I don’t need you to do chores for me. I don’t need you to send me chocolates or tidy my bookshelves. I don’t need you to be super human or perfect.” Her voice quivered ominously. “I just need you to be happy. That’s all.”
I furrowed my brow. “I’m…trying. I’m less than happy right now, but I’m mostly well adjusted. I think. I can’t guarantee that tomorrow—”
“That’s the point.” She gathered her skirts around her and sat cross-legged on the floor at my feet. “Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. You have to live for today…every day, Ash. And I do mean live. Let go of your rules, write a new script for each day of the week if you want. But happiness has to be your number one goal.”
I fumbled with my cell. “Got it. I’ll write that down.”
She pulled my phone from my hand and shook her head. “No, don’t take notes. Just listen.”
“I’m listening,” I repeated.
“No one is perfect, Ash. No one. That’s okay. It’s okay to feel down and sad sometimes. It’s okay to be disappointed, angry, or disillusioned. It’s okay to acknowledge that life is really damn hard sometimes.”
“Yes,” I agreed with a heavy sigh.
She nodded. “You have a right to your feelings. You don’t have to hide them. You don’t have to prove anything to me. And you don’t have to make up for bad things that happened…so many years ago.”
“I know,” I whispered, my gaze flitting to the silver frame on the coffee table. I bit the inside of my lips. “So…what should we do? Now I’m sad and you’re sad that I’m sad. How do we fix this?”
“We don’t.” Mom reached up to push my hair from my forehead. “We stay in the moment, do our best, and trust that it will all work out.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes. That’s it.”
“I don’t like that advice,” I grumbled. “No offense, but it really doesn’t sound like professional counsel.”
She grinned. “I’m your mom first, Ash. I can’t be professional or impartial because I love you. In fact, I love you more than there are stars in the universe.”