The couch sagged as Joan sat beside her. “He must think you’re more than a piece of ass if he took you home with him for Thanksgiving.”
Heather let out a horrified laugh. “‘Piece of ass,’ Mom? We’re going there?”
Joan didn’t say anything, and Heather opened her eyes and turned her head toward her mom, surprised to see a sad expression on her face.
Her mother was one of those chronically happy people; always determined to see the bright side, quick to lose her temper, but even quicker to forgive and forget.
“I want to talk to you about Thanksgiving,” Joan said.
Heather stilled. “Okay?”
“I know you were upset with me.”
“I was,” Heather said slowly. “But I got over it. Really.”
She was like her mom in that way. Had never really gotten into the whole “holding a grudge” thing. Way too exhausting.
“May I speak frankly, dear?” Joan asked.
Heather blinked. “Depends. May I have more wine?”
Her mom smiled, reaching for the bottle of merlot on the table behind her and topping them both off. “Okay, here we go. This is going to come out a little tough love, but I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and I love you, so it needs to be said.”
Heather took a sip of wine and waited, more curious than she was tense. Her mom had never been the tough-love type. More the free-love, really.
“I worry that you rely too much on external validation.”
Heather blinked in surprise. External validation? Not her mom’s usual MO, and she wondered if she’d seen it on Oprah.
“Explain,” Heather said slowly.
Her mom reached out and took Heather’s hand. “I love you to death. I love that you love New York, I love that you chased your dreams. But, Heather, sweetie, New York has always been your dream. Not mine.”
“I know that,” Heather said slowly. “But I don’t think it’s unreasonable to want to share those dreams with people we care about.”
“Of course not,” Joan said. “But I don’t think that’s why you want me to come to New York so badly. You want me to come to New York so I can tell you that you’re doing the right thing, that you’ve made the right choices. So that I can reassure you that the goal you’ve been chasing all this time is the right one, and that you have everything you need to make you happy.”
“You don’t think I’m happy?” Heather asked.
“I think you’re on your way,” Joan said carefully. “But I think you know there’s a piece missing, and you’re hoping that I, or your boss, will assure you that you’re wrong.”
“Whoa. What does Alexis have to do with this?” Heather asked.
“You’re looking for the same thing from her as you are from me. Validation.”
“Well, yeah, I kind of need her validation to get the promotion,” Heather countered.
“And this promotion will get you what, exactly?” Joan asked gently. “More money, and that’s good. Prestige, and that’s good, too. But I don’t think that’s why you want it so badly.”
Heather started to take another sip of wine, only to realize she didn’t really want it. She set her glass aside. “Okay, Mom. Help me out here. Why do I want the promotion, then?”
“I know why you became a wedding planner, sweetheart, and it’s not because you love churches and carrying around safety pins for emergencies or because you love bossing people around, although you’ve always been startling good at that. I know the real reason.”
Heather looked away, and her mom squeezed her hand. “I know you planned weddings for me and the men I dated. I know you wanted a father, and a family. I know you wanted the white wedding, not because of the wedding itself, but because of what it represented. Stability. Happiness.”
“I was happy with you, Mom,” Heather said, her eyes watering.
“And I with you, but you wanted more for yourself. As well you should.”
“So why do I feel like I’m being scolded for wanting more?” Heather asked.
Her mom smoothed a hand over Heather’s hair, shoving the curls back. “I just worry you’re wanting the wrong thing. I worry you think happiness is your address and your job, and while those are important factors, you’ve pursued them at the expense of other things.”