We’re civil, but rarely connect except to continue the most formal aspects of a mother-daughter relationship. For her, it’s about maintaining the facade of her family life juxtaposed with a political career decades in the making. She pretty much leveraged my education to make me agree to help her keep up appearances, since I’m all she has left.
For me, it’s not hard to recognize her own need to do good in the world. Besides, I don’t have the energy to waste on hating her anymore, so I show up when needed, as long as it doesn’t interfere with my career. We stopped trying to be friends a long time ago.
But Nina’s right; I remember a time when our family seemed idyllic. When Chris and I were kids and Mom and Dad were happy and in love. When my parents could do no wrong in my eyes. Is it wrong to want that for myself?
“It’s no surprise they fought. The Longo-Nicolos are a family of passionate, caring people, Callie. You all seem to gravitate toward callings that are bigger than life. It’s in your blood, and I don’t think it’s fair of you to try to deny it. Your parents worked as a couple when they were together because they both understood that facet of each other, but were willing to compromise. I think Chris’s death broke their ability to find common ground.”
I stare morosely into my drink, which is little more than half-melted ice at this stage. “Chris’ death broke a lot. I’m not sure any of us really healed completely from that.”
I glance up at her, and my heart catches at the wetness in her eyes. Nina’s the last person who needs a reminder of what we all lost when my brother was killed. She’d been infatuated with Chris since our first sleepover when we were kids. He was six years older and in high school, so completely out of her league, but that didn’t stop her from fantasizing about their wedding when we were teenagers. Even though we were in our twenties when he died, Nina lost her ability to dream big, and I don’t think she ever got it back.
She rallies with a shake of her head. “That doesn’t change the pieces of them that live within you. The piece I think you shared with Chris too. You crave independence, adventure. Helping people is what drives you. I half-expect you to trot off to work with your dad whenever you’re ready for the next step in your career. As unfair as I think it is to your mom, he’s the one whose love and approval you really crave.”
“Are you saying my entire career is based on my unresolved daddy issues? My feeling of abandonment or something? I’m pretty done being psychoanalyzed here, just for the record.” I am only half-joking, and the barbed note to my voice is evident from the annoyed look she gives me.
She lets out an irritated sigh and grabs a throw pillow, tossing it at my head. I grab it and hold on, weirdly grateful for the soft thing to squeeze against my chest, because as much as I hate listening to her outpouring of insight, every word strikes a chord of truth.
“No . . . Well, partly. I think you are still so angry at your mom that you overcompensate with adoration of your father just to piss her off. And that you will never be happy with a man who doesn’t fulfill that ideation you have for what your dad represents to you: a hero who risked alienating his family to save lives.
“Which is why I never really got what you saw in Barnaby. He’s a doctor, sure, but in a boring specialty that you specifically avoided because you said it wouldn’t challenge you. He probably likes having regular office hours because it doesn’t get in the way of him fucking other women. It would’ve made more sense that you were the one sowing her wild oats, banging dreamy surgeons in on-call rooms or whatnot.”
I roll my eyes. “That doesn’t happen in real life, you know. We’re too damn tired to waste a chance for a nap.”
“My point is that I always expected you to wind up with a real man. Some fearless alpha-male like Chris or your dad. Someone with the guts to do life-changing work. He was beneath you, Cal. You deserve so much better.”
She gets up and retrieves our glasses, heading to the kitchen island to mix us both fresh drinks. I chew on my lip as my stomach turns somersaults at the memory of a certain real man I had a close encounter with earlier. When she hands me my drink, I blurt out, “I did something stupid tonight.”
“Honey, didn’t I get through to you? Dumping that asshat wasn’t stupid.”
“No, that isn’t what I mean. Afterward, on the plane. There was this guy, and we sort of . . . um . . . joined the mile-high club together.” I tilt my glass up to hide behind it while I take a long drink.
Nina’s utterly silent, and when I finally have the courage to look at her again, her eyes are as wide as dinner plates.
“That’s . . . ah . . . wow. Way to bury the goddamn lead, Callie!” She tosses another pillow at me, but I’m too tangled up in knots to dodge it and it smacks me square in the face.
“Yeah, sorry.” I give her a sheepish smile.
“Well, had I known all that, I’d have skipped all the deep, dark, emotional excavation and just asked for details. But seriously, why the hell do you think that’s stupid?”
“I don’t know. I guess while I know rationally that it’s all kinds of stupid to fuck a stranger on a plane, and we didn’t even have protection—god, what was I thinking? But the really stupid part? The part I’m kicking myself over? Is that I didn’t get his number.”
She nods sagely, tutting at the part where we skipped protection, which at the
