I do not own Mona Lisa Smile.

I never thought of this before. And now I love it.

Not All Who Wander Are Aimless

Learning to Accept

Giselle Levy is a hugger, a kisser, a cuddler.

Betty Warren . . .

So undignified.

. . . is not.

Was not.

Had not been.

Previously.

Giselle never seemed mind, one way or another.

Though she did . . .

"Do you want to know what I think, Betty?"

. . . still challenge her from time to time.

"I think you're about to tell me."

This snarky statement is decidedly less snarky than it would have been in the past.

More really, it was simply fondly put.

And Giselle Levy goes right ahead as if she were going to anyway.

"I think you haven't experienced real, true, accepting love in your life yet."

Which Betty supposes she was.

"And that hurts your soul."

The statement is true. Betty Warren can't deny it.

Her mother, not exactly doting and warm by any standards, not even when Betty was young.

Her father, well, what was a father.

A person behind a newspaper who replied as needed from around his smoking pipe and doled out money from time to time.

Betty had giggled at boys in primary and secondary school.

Flipped her hair at them, pretended to ignore them, as was the proper way.

And of course, there had been Spencer.

The son of her mother's close friends, The Jones.

Set up now, she realized, by her mother.

Though Spencer had never really been . . .

"Hello, Betty."

"Hello, Spencer."

. . . nearly as interested as she had hoped/dreamed/forced herself to believe he was.

So it was true.

She has never been in true, real love.

And she admits it now, at eight-thirty on a Thursday morning.

"Maybe you're right."

And Giselle, with her clear eyes and small smile, nods.

"I know I'm right."

And Betty feels that old fight rear its ugly head, that old, cruel Betty she hates.

"Well, what do you suggest I do? Go sleep around with everything that looks at me like you do?"

Pain flickers through Giselle's eyes and Betty immediately swells with regret.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I just mean-"

"I know what you meant," Giselle replies. "And I get it, you're not like me and that's fine."

Betty watches her take a deep breath.

And focuses right back in on the point she's been trying to make.

"What I do think you should do is allow yourself to be loved properly."

Betty huffs.

"Who? Who can I trust?"

There's no man, absolutely no man on this earth she feels comfortable trusting.

Giselle smiles gently at her.

"You can trust me."

Betty frowns.

"You? But you . . . I . . ."

And now it's Giselle's turn to frown.

"No, honey, there are different kinds of love. And if you can accept one, then maybe it can help you learn what you do want from others."

And Betty . . .

"Oh."

. . . decides she'll have to think on it.

"Okay."

A while.

And so she begins to try.

When Giselle compliments her, . . .

"Your hair looks pretty today."

. . . Betty smiles.

"Thank you."

When Giselle offers to brush her hair, . . .

". . . be careful, come here."

. . . Betty lets her.

When Giselle offers for them to go out to this fantastic little Chinese place she's heard about . . .

"On a Tuesday night? I have class tomorrow."

"Be wild."

. . . she goes.

And when Giselle kisses her cheek, soft and sweet and friendly, Betty . . .

"Have a good day. Darling."

"You too. Honey."

. . . lets her.

Good lord, Betty's mother. Ugh.

Anyway, thanks for reading!