Clash

Love is what brings you together, Lucy. But it’s the blood, sweat, and tears of hard work that keeps you together,” she began, choosing her words carefully. “Love isn’t just about flowers, candlelight, and romance, sweetheart. It’s hard work, and trust, and tears, and misery.

“You’re letting the fairy tales you grew up with cloud your mind. Love isn’t easy. Especially the really good kind. It’s difficult, and you’ll want to rip your hair out just as many days as you’ll feel the wind at your back.” She paused, smiling to herself. “But it’s worth it. It’s worth fighting for. Don’t let what isn’t real blind you to what is. Life isn’t perfect, we aren’t perfect, so why should we expect love to be?”

“I get that, I do. But come on, Mom,” I said, trailing my finger along the rim of my cup. “Love just isn’t enough sometimes.”

“Baby,” she said, looking at me like I’d just said something very immature, “I’d sign my name in blood that it isn’t.”

You can’t plant a seed and hope it will grow on its own. It takes a lotta work to make anything grow.” He smiled up at me, clearly pleased with himself.

“Wow,” I replied, stunned. “That’s some seriously smart stuff, Danny.”

“I know,” he said. “Do you have any questions?”

I was smirking at a six-year-old. Not one of my better moments. “I think I’m good, but I’ll let you know.”