ore.
“Why were you and grandma arguing last night？”
My mother was one of the many people who constantly tried to fix me up. How many times had I told her “no” to meeting the Mr. Perfect she picked out for me. She just knew Steve was the man for me.
“It’s nothing,” I told her.
She shrugged. “Grandma said she just wanted you to find someone to love.”
“What grandma wants is for some guy to break my heart again,” I snapped, angry that my mother had said anything about this to my daughter.
“But Mom...”
“You’re too young to understand,” I told her.
She was quiet for the next few minutes. Then she looked up and in a small voice gave me something to think about.
“So I guess love isn’t like a broken arm.”
Unable to answer, we walked the rest of the way in silence. When I got home, I called my mother and scolded her for talking about this to my daughter. Then I did what I’d seen my brave little gift do that very afternoon. I let go and agreed to meet Steve.
Steve was the man for me. We married less than a year later. It turned out mother and my daughter were right.
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