“I see.”
“Do you? Because right now, I’m thinking my son is blind.”
“Mom, if there is something you want to tell me, cut to the chase.” I push the report away, ready for her attack.
“You’re in love with Pippa Bennett.”
I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“And you’re still not going to do everything you can to stay in San Francisco?”
“It’s not that simple.” I huff out a breath, drumming my fingers on my desk.
“Why not? What’s keeping you in Boston?”
“It’s a long list.”
“Humor me.”
“Julie’s school—you know how much she struggled fitting in. You. The company.”
“That was an exceptionally short list. Let’s go over that line by line, shall we? First, the company. Can you say with absolute certainty that the company would be worse off if you hired a CEO in Boston and you moved to San Francisco, developing the business there?”
Though Mother isn’t an official board member, she’s up to date with the state of things in the company, always has been.
“No,” I admit. “If anything, it would strengthen the company’s overall position. I’d be more aggressive with our growth than Marcus or anyone else here. And I’m bored in Boston.”
“Yes, that was apparent from the moment you announced you wanted to go to San Francisco yourself. So we ticked that off. Now, let’s take me.”
It doesn’t escape me that she hasn’t touched the subject of Julie yet, who was the first on the list.
“We talk on the phone and have monthly dinners. I also throw bridge parties, from which you and Julie bail every time.”
Oh, hell. Pippa was right. Mom was pretending to buy our excuses.
“Can we agree that we can talk over the phone even if you’re away, and we can meet for monthly dinners?” Mom presses. “I can fly to San Francisco, or you can fly here.”
“Mom. You’re seve—” I stop before I spell out the word. Bringing up Mom’s age won’t be doing me any favors, but a woman her age shouldn’t travel back and forth so often.
“Glad you stopped. Now, let’s get to Julie. Have you actually talked to your daughter about moving to San Francisco?”
“I don’t want her to feel like she comes in second. Ever,” I say firmly.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No, I haven’t talked to her.”
Silence hangs in the air for a few seconds, and I imagine this is how prisoners sentenced to death by guillotine felt in the seconds before the blade fell. Mom’s next words slice through me.
“It is as I thought. You’re using all these arguments as excuses.”
“Mother….”
“Do you love Pippa? Do you see yourself spending your life with her?”
“Yes.”
“Then stop looking for excuses and start finding solutions.”