in—” It was the wrong path. “Shanna O’Rourke is a shallow, overly pretty, self-absorbed—”
“And Aidan is . . . ?” Carrie countered, a hand sweeping past. “I understand that after Shanna caught him cheating he dumped her, right there, in the middle of Lovett Street. If you ask me, Aidan could benefit from a lesson in
honorable
.”
A hand flew to Isabel’s forehead. “This is so twisted I don’t even know where to start! Shanna is not completely innocent. If you could just look at it from Aidan’s point of view.”
“I’d rather look at it from yours. Can you honestly tell me that you didn’t go running to that farmhouse to comfort him, cocktails in tow?” And Isabel had no quick comeback for that. Carrie sighed, reaching out. Warm motherly fingers brushed through her daughter’s hair, an empathetic smile edging onto her face. Isabel pushed her hand away, the gesture making her feel hopelessly awkward, hugely transparent. “Isabel, I’m concerned about the choices you’re making to keep Aidan in your life. What you’re willing to do for him. How far you’d go to . . .”
“It’s not like that,” she said quietly. “Not at all.” She shook off Carrie’s accusations, focused on the things she and Aidan did share. They were rock-solid things that didn’t compare with something as intangible as romance. “Newsflash, Mom, not every relationship boils down to a sexual encounter. That’s not what Aidan and I are about.” But the delivery was lukewarm, and she tried again. “It’s so much more than that.”
“Isabel, it’s all right. I understand how you feel. I can appreciate what it’s like to love someone unconditionally. In return, they use you as a support system but are totally deceptive about what they’re capable of giving.”
“Are we talking about Aidan and me or you and Dad?”
It was a complicated connection, Isabel’s astuteness surprising Carrie. She watched her mother tense, the fabric of her voice weaving into a patterned blend of hurt and humiliation. “Fine. But you could benefit from my experience. Look how many years it’s taken for me to fall in love with someone else.”
There was a hairpin turn. “In love? You’re in love with Rick?” She wasn’t sure why the shock value was so great. Somewhere in her head, Isabel believed Carrie Lang’s fate was sealed. She would always love her father, a man she couldn’t have. Isabel hesitated, trying to fit Rick, a man whose presence equated with a crowd-filled stadium, into their quiet corner-table life.
“This isn’t the conversation I envisioned when we talked about it. But, yes, we’re absolutely in love.”
“That’s um . . . That’s kind of sudden, isn’t it?”
“We’ve been together for eight months. See that? You didn’t even notice—how long we’ve been together or how serious things are.” Isabel nodded, racking her brain for the clues she missed. “So maybe,” Carrie said, her tone gentler, “you can trust me a little when I tell you that I
get
someone like Aidan.”
Isabel retreated into her room, her argument suddenly feeling weak. Her mother was right about one thing. Isabel didn’t know anything about being in love. But as she recalled, Carrie didn’t see Eric Lang’s bombshell coming either. She supposed love could have that effect—leaving a huge margin for error. Isabel couldn’t share any reservations about Rick. Not now. While they might be having this anchored conversation, Carrie’s declaration said she was floating on a cloud, and Isabel would not be the one to paint a black horizon. She backtracked. “I’m happy for you, Mom. But really, Aidan and I, we’re friends. Don’t worry about me—”
“Don’t worry about you?” Carrie had followed her into the bedroom, eyes widening at the remark. “You’d do better asking me to add your father and his
soul mate
to my Christmas card list.” She arched a brow, the sarcasm penetrating through.