The Truth About Unspeakable Things by Emily Myers (people reading books txt) 📗

answering your door, meeting your mother no less. And you felt comfortable enough to fall asleep with him in your home. You are many things, Emma Marshall, but an idiot is not one,” she says.

Despite the tension between us, I take a moment to enjoy her compliment.

“With you in such a vulnerable state, he could’ve stolen something or done far worse things to you than provide you with a throw-up basket and Advil. Yes, I saw,” she tells me. Her tone alerts me I’ll hear more on that topic later.

“Okay,” I concede. “Well, if you noticed that and the level of comfort between us, and you can’t deny his breakfast was delicious, then why would you disregard him as a possible suitor?” I ask. “Not that we’re even remotely dating, because we’re not, but—”

“Emma,” my mother breathes. “Don’t lie to me. You have feelings for this boy or else you wouldn’t be so hellbent on defending him. And he clearly has feelings for you.”

As she speaks, I feel his lips on my cheek. My insides tingle.

“But feelings aren’t enough,” she reveals, practically.

My forehead crinkles in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course, you don’t,” she says, signaling for another glass of champagne. “You live in the fairytale world of women empowerment. You think you can do it all without anyone’s help. You think imperfection is a waste of time. You think marriage and compromise are outdated.”

“That’s not true,” I say.

“Isn’t it?” she asks. “You had a man that was prepared to take care of you,” she says. “Beaux had a good job and more money than the two of you would have ever needed. He came from a good family, a family with connections. You could’ve stayed home and focused on your interests like writing and traveling. You could’ve had an easy life, Emma,” she tells me. “And you threw it all away over what? Over a few lonely nights or a couple of broken promises?

“Men aren’t perfect, Emma, and neither is marriage, but it is necessary. And Beaux?” she says, shaking her head. “You’ll be hard pressed to find another man like him.”

Her words hit me like hot rocks. Is this really what she thinks of me? Screw what she said about Beaux! I’ve heard that speech before. But thinking that my life is a fairytale, that I don’t care about anyone else or their opinion, that I can’t accept imperfection, is an insult in the greatest form. And to rag on Julian, to imply that he isn’t or wouldn’t be enough for me . . . Well, regardless of where we stand, he is a far better man than Beauregard Thomas. That much I know, and she would too if she took the chance to get to know him rather than judge him by his tattoos.

I clasp my hands together, digging my nails into my palms.

“Mom,” I say, with more respect than she deserves. “I don’t want to disrespect you nor cause a scene, but you don’t know Beaux the way you think you do, and you don’t know me. My life is anything but a fairytale, but maybe you’re right. Maybe a relationship is more than just feelings,” I admit. “Maybe it’s respect, maybe it’s communication, maybe it’s safety, maybe it’s even more. I wouldn’t know because I’ve never experienced nor witnessed a healthy relationship,” I tell her, fully aware of the implication towards her and my father.

My mother watches me with surprise.

“But what I can tell you is that it is much more than the clothes you wear, the money in your bank account, and the family you come from. It’s more than secrets and trust issues. It’s more than wondering whose bed your fiancé is in tonight, or rather who’s in his,” I reveal. “It’s more than fear,” I say. Tears distort my vision. “It’s more than necessary,” I finally tell her.

I look away from her, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. An attendant brings us both a glass of champagne while we sit in silence. God! How long does it take to put on a wedding dress, Eva?

“I chose to end my engagement, and I had more than enough reasons to do so,” I finally say. “But maybe I am bitter,” I admit. “Maybe I do cringe at the sight of wedding dresses, roll my eyes as Eva talks seating charts, and gag at the mention of Bill and all the sweet things he’s promised to do after they get married.” Tears continue to fall. “But that does not mean for a single second that I still have feelings for the man who . . .” I stop myself.

I wipe the rest of my tears and sip my champagne.

“Who what?” my mom asks. She watches me with wide eyes and parted lips. Every muscle in her small body seems to clench as she waits for my response.

I appreciate her listening, but I can’t tell her the truth. I can’t have her know . . . I shake my head.

“Nothing, Mom,” I say. “Let’s just never have this conversation again, okay?”

She hesitates but agrees.

I know I’m not being fair to her. If she knew, maybe . . . maybe things would be different. Maybe she would respect me more or at least understand that her talking about him hurts me. Because it does remind me, all of this reminds me, not so much of being engaged. Rather, it reminds me of what happened the night our engagement ended. The walls I’ve built around the truth are starting to shatter, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep my secrets in.

“Alright! Who’s ready for dress number one?” Eva squeals.

Chapter 13

Dinner with my mom and Eva is better than I would’ve guessed based on the morning’s events. I guess something I said finally resonated with my mom. I hope it lasts. But despite a delicious meal, decent company, and the ambiance of one of the finer offerings of the Crescent City, my mind is more conflicted than ever.

Is it time to move on? But how do I