One
I pulled up to the curb and stared at the familiar Cape Cod house. Bright white. Black shutters. A light dusting of snow covered the usual thriving flower and vegetable garden. Two wicker rocking chairs on the front porch held grinning snowmen cushions. Leftover lights from Christmas still wrapped around the railing, the only bright spot in the dreary winter evening. Holding back a sigh, I shoved the endless buzz of thoughts and tasks and ideas igniting my brain to the side and got out of the car.
It was time to see Mom.
I squared my shoulders and tried not to dread my visit with each step. I was horrible. I loved my mother. But these consistent check-ins were beginning to grate on my nerves, especially when each second was precious. As I told my clients regularly, dreams don't work unless you do. And damned if I didn't have a ton of both to conquer.
I walked inside and found her in the kitchen. "Hi, Mom."
"Aurora! How are you, sweetheart?" Guilt hit again as she lit up and hugged me like it was the first time we'd seen each other in ages, instead of only two days. Have mothers always acted like puppies, with a warped sense of time?
Maybe I'd have children one day and find out.
"Good. Really busy. You said you needed help with something?"
She made a sound of annoyance and began waving her hands in the air. "It's the TV again! I tried to save money by switching to the app instead of the cable box, but it doesn't work. I called the company and they said no one could come out because I was doing it wrong." A frown creased her brow. "I'm not an idiot. I know it's broken."
Frustration simmered, but I fought it back. This wasn't an emergency I should be running over to fix, but no matter how many times I explained my schedule, Mom said she understood and wouldn't bother me. Then did. "Let me look at it. The bedroom?"
"Yes. Thank you. I don't know how your dad dealt with all this tech. Are you hungry? I made a quiche and salad. Why don't you stay?"
"Can't. I'm meeting Jason for dinner."
Her silence was answer enough, but I refused to let her piss me off on my date night. It took me less than five minutes to work the two remotes and click on the app causing the trouble. "Mom, come here. You were hitting the wrong button."
"No. That's impossible."
I half closed my eyes. God, she was stubborn. Probably the most stubborn person on the planet. Dad used to laugh and say she'd tire out a mule, but there was no better quality when it came to sheer grit and staying power. "Look, I'll show you."
Her gasp would have made me laugh if I hadn't been so stressed. "I can't believe it. Thank you. Have some water. I bought the vitamin stuff you like."
I was about to tell her no, but the look on her face made me pause. The flicker of longing in her dark eyes, as if she craved company. Crap. Why did she have to feel so lonely? Why couldn't she find some pursuits to fill her time instead of depending on me? It had been five years since Dad passed. She was in her mid-fifties, not her seventies. Was it wrong that I expected more independence from her? I forced a smile. "Sure, Mom."
She practically ran to the kitchen and presented me with the bottle proudly. I took a sip, studying her in the fading light that beamed from the window.
My mother was still beautiful, retaining a timeless elegance. Her rich dark hair was her best asset, with only threads of gray she kept under control with dye. Big brown eyes dominated her face, with lush lashes that any woman would envy. A classic Roman nose, full lips, and heavy slanted brows gave off an earthiness that matched her curvy figure. I'd encouraged her to begin dating, knowing she'd easily attract men with her looks, but Mom refused. She said Dad was the love of her life and she wasn't interested in finding another.
I'd have been happy to see her score a dinner date.
Though we looked alike, we'd always been different. I had the same thick dark hair, though I'd cut mine years ago, to my mother's distress. Now the strands were smooth and curled under my chin in a stylish cut. People always commented that we were like twins. I always wished I'd inherited my father's light blond hair, hazel eyes, and trim build. Instead, I got stuck with too many curves, a too-large nose, and an excess of body hair.
But behavior-wise? Yeah, I was completely my very English dad. I looked at the world in crisp blacks and whites and had laser-sharp focus on tasks that furthered my goals. Rest was my nemesis, along with messy emotion. I'd managed to turn my practicality into a career but lacked the patience my mother held when it came to listening to rants or endless whining. I didn't believe in "poor me." I believed in fixing it.
My mom exuded a warm, nurturing persona that sucked in everyone who craved a listening ear, a hug, or a favor. She loved cooking, naps, gardening, and long conversations that had no real point.
We were opposites who couldn't seem to understand each other. It had made for some epic fights when I was a teen, during which Mom had surprised me with her legendary Italian temper. Dad always said when she reached her limit and snapped, no one wanted to be near the explosion.
Too bad I was an only child. It really sucked not to have any siblings. Mom had multiple miscarriages after me, so they'd eventually decided to stop trying. Both my parents were also only children. I'd grown up without any type of extended family. I literally had no grandparents, cousins, or aunts or uncles, which was a bummer around the holidays, but at least I got full attention and all the presents.
Unfortunately, presents no longer mattered, and I was the sole target of my mother's scrutiny.
Lucky me.
"What are you up to this week?" she asked.
I shook my head at the thought of my schedule. "It's nonstop. I'm booked with client appointments, and I want to get a handle on the new season of the podcast. Plus, I fell behind on the book, so I need to get some writing done." I chattered on about the other responsibilities on my plate, hoping she'd get a sense of how busy I truly was.
She nodded, but a tiny frown caused her brow to crease. "When was the last time you saw Hannah or April?"
"I don't know-six months, maybe? I had to cancel our last meet-up. But they're doing well."
The frown deepened. "Honey, I don't understand why you lost touch. They were your best friends all through college. It's like you've suddenly dropped them."
And here we go.
I tried not to get irritated. "Mom, we're all busy. They have young kids now and I'm building a business. Things change."
"Some things should be prioritized," she said gently. "Like good friends. Work can't take the place of relationships."
"Meaningful work can," I shot back. "Plus, I have Jason. We're getting serious and that's my priority right now."
I could tell she wanted to say something but held back. The irritation grew into anger, especially when I spotted the gleam of disapproval in her eyes. Not only for Jason but for my choices as well. For the work I put my heart and soul into that she didn't understand.
For my entire life.
Why couldn't my mother be happy with her own life instead of trying to manage mine? She always wanted something from me. A call, a text, a visit. Poking at my choices, consistently telling me I needed to slow down.
I'd finally invited Jason to Sunday dinner, hopeful Mom would see all the wonderful things I did. Instead, there was an underlying tension that hung heavily over the dining room table.
I hated the way she'd immediately judged his muscles and good looks. She never said a word of criticism, but I knew. It was obvious in her gaze as he politely refused most of the food that contained carbs and spoke about ambition and doing better than our parents. His passion steered the conversation as Jason explained his future plans of running a fitness empire. When she revealed the torta setteveli seven-layer cake she'd spent hours baking, he refused, joking that sugar was the hidden demon causing weight gain and diabetes, giving me a wink as if we were on the same team.
I'd squirmed with embarrassment and resentment in my seat, hating that I still sought her approval like I was a needy child. There was no reason for her to question Jason or my choices in relationships. Afterward, we'd had a fight and I'd walked out. We hadn't mentioned it since, but the words flung back and forth still hung in the air between us, like a cloud of pollution, dark and heavy and poisonous. Now we were circling back to this conversation.
"I see you making choices with your head, not your heart. I only want you to lean in to all the wonderful surprises out there. Not close yourself off because it doesn't make sense or meet a certain goal. Do you understand?"
Yes. I did. That was the terrible part. The disconnect between us was growing and I was getting tired of her criticism. Of her judging my life based on ideals I could never accept or understand.
Slowly, I put down my water bottle and gave her a tight smile. "Sure, Mom. I gotta go. I'll check in next week."
I gave her a quick hug and headed for the door.
"Wait-I'll see you Sunday, right?"
I stiffened. "Probably not. I have a lot of work, Mom."
Her hands flew up in the air. "All day Sunday? Honey, it's our only chance to spend some quality time together. Just come and eat. You're too skinny-you need a good meal without constantly scrolling through that phone. All that social media isn't healthy."
"I'll let you know, okay?"
"Fine. Text me. I love you."
I muttered it back and hurried out, sending a quick text to Jason that I was running late. As I sped away, I let out a breath. Finally, I'd get back to my real life.
On cue, my phone belted out Carrie Underwood's song "The Champion," which always pumped me up, and I quickly put my earbuds in to answer. I held strict appointments with all my clients but was always available for emergencies. Being on call for the people who depended on me was important and had helped expand my life-coaching business quickly. Referrals and reviews were key.
"Hi, Millicent. How are you?"
A deep, depressive sigh. "I need help, Aurora. I wrote down all the goals I'd like to achieve, but when I got up today I felt overwhelmed. So I made breakfast and watched Netflix and had a chat with my sister-who never makes me feel good-and now I'm on my couch."
I winced. The couch is the place where success goes to die. Since she was a new client, I knew I'd need to give Millicent a little more hand-holding to retrain her mind. I launched into my step-by-step routine to bring the woman out of her immediate funk, forcing her to move her body.
By the time I reached the restaurant, I had her pumped up and in the right mindset. I got out of the car, hitched my purse higher on my arm, and spoke into the empty air with all the passion I could muster.
"Millicent, you've forgotten the most important step in changing your life. What did we speak about yesterday? Repeat it to me."
My hands gestured wildly in the air, a genetic trait from Mom's Italian heritage I couldn't seem to break. My client's hesitation told me she was desperately trying to remember the motto I drilled into every person's brain, including my own.
A short silence hummed over the line. "Action?"
"That's right! Nothing changes unless you do."
I pushed open the door to the restaurant, nodding to the hostess as I threaded my way to our usual corner table. Jason raised his hand to signal me over, then dropped it when he realized I was in work mode. I shot him an apologetic look, but he smiled and went back to perusing the menu. He was used to my packed schedule and never resented it when work seeped into our time. Another reason he was the perfect boyfriend.
"Now, give me the sound of victory!"
I winced at the loud hooting but was satisfied with the enthusiasm. "Get to work, Millicent. Make your dreams come true!"
"Thanks, Aurora-I am unstoppable!"
I gave my own hoot, said goodbye, and removed my earbuds.
Jason shot me an amused look. "Owl power?"
"Very funny. Sorry I'm late-I had to stop at Mom's."
"You're worth waiting for." He reached over and took my hands. "I think we should go with the mahi-mahi. Abe said it's fresh from the market and the pineapple salsa is homemade."
"Done. I'm too tired to make decisions." I smiled and studied him from across the table. Jason's thick blond hair was kept short but with just enough surfer wave to give him a boyish look. As a fitness trainer and nutrition guru, he kept himself in peak health. At a towering six three, he possessed eight-pack abs, bulging biceps, and thighs the size of tree trunks. Blue eyes held both intelligence and an intensity that had attracted me immediately.
Not sexual intensity, though we met each other's needs nicely. Jason ate, breathed, and slept work. But not just work to be busy. He was obsessed with meeting and smashing through goals, with achieving perfection with not only his body but his mind and emotions as well.
Jason was the male me. And the moment we'd met, I knew he was meant to be my partner. People told us all the time we were couple goals, and whenever I posted anything of us together, my social feed interaction doubled and I got a ton of new subscribers and followers.
Our waiter, Abe, came over, his gentle face wreathed in a smile. Jason and I had been coming regularly to Riverview restaurant for six months and he knew exactly what we liked. "So nice to see you again. Have we made our choices for the night?" His clean-shaven head gleamed and his dark eyes shrewdly glanced at the table, noting the candle was lit, the linens were pressed, and our water glasses were full.
Copyright © 2025 by Jennifer Probst. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
