I know it won’t make a difference where I sleep, although now I’m tempted to do a subtle armpit sniff freshness check. Do I need to remind her that she’s crashing my vacation? I get that this is my job, but why does she get to take breaks for massages, all while ordering me around like I’m one of her assistants? My inner monologue is whinier than usual today. I might be slightly hangry. It’s close to dinner time and those Cheetos are not holding up. Tears are likely on my horizon if I don't pull myself together fast.
Sarah stiffens next to me. “I’ll walk with you.”
My mother waves us away as she answers another call. We’ve been dismissed.
As soon as we’re out the door, Sarah wraps an arm around my shoulders. She doesn’t say anything, just leads me through the grounds and into the spa. Once we're in a quiet place, with nothing but plants and small trickling fountains to hear us, she looks straight into my eyes and says, "You know, you are allowed to say no."
"Not to her."
"Why not?"
"Because... I don't know. I disagree with her sometimes, sure. We negotiate." I don't add that our negotiations always seem to lean in her favor. "But I can never tell her 'no, thank you'. And I don’t know why."
She gets that crease between her dark eyes that perfectly matches Joe’s. "How do you feel when you think about telling her no?"
I know why I can't say no, deep, deep in my heart. It's a tender unexplored place. My throat is thick when I start to explain it, "I guess I'm… scared. I’m afraid of being rejected by her and I’m afraid of her anger." That admission feels like dropping a heavy sandbag out of a hot air balloon.
A silly memory surfaces of being a teenage girl, looking forward to the sweet sixteen party my mother was throwing for me. She had planned it for months. I was so excited to be with my friends, and the elaborate decorations and food. My mother knew how to throw an over-the-top party. Still does.
She had chosen a dress for me that matched her theme of pink roses and gold. We went to her tailor to have it fitted and when I put it on, I wanted to put my jacket on top of it and run out of the shop. I was a flat-chested late bloomer and the deep cut v-neck of the dress looked silly, and so much more revealing than I was used to. My face burned with discomfort at the thought of wearing that dress around my friends. I told my mother through the velvet curtain that no, it wouldn't work for me.
She spent an embarrassing half hour lecturing me, followed by a week of reminding me that I was an ingrate every chance she got. After that she ignored me. I got the silent treatment for two full weeks until I caved. I wore the dress. There was so much guilt. She was doing so much for me, I had to. She smiled when I told her. She had won. And I can't stand looking at pictures from that night.
I know it’s stupid, and I get it—the poor rich girl had to wear a dress she didn’t like. I know it shouldn’t be a big deal, but it’s just one example of my uncomfortable relationship with my mother.
Sarah's hand is on my knee and her wise eyes search mine, which I realize are leaking. Darn hanger tears.
"I'm sorry you live with that fear. You are an intelligent, capable adult and you're allowed to have boundaries. You can say no." There are more tears from me when she adds, "And if she rejects you orlashes out when you say no, take a deep breath. Remind her that you are allowed to say no. Remember that you have us now. You have me, Sunny, Mercer, and Joe. We'll have your back this week."
I'm weeping now. I wish I was that kind of person—the kind who can say no without guilt. It all sounds nice in theory, but what would I do if the one person in this world who has given me everything rejects me? She is my mother and my employer. She brought me into this world and raised me. I owe it to her to trust her choices. I keep these thoughts to myself, blink my tears away, and mumble, "Okay."
Joe chooses this moment to walk through the spa. His eyes swing my direction immediately, zeroing in on my face which is probably red and blotchy.
“What happened?” His voice is hard.
I try to laugh it all off. “It’s nothing. Just my mother being my boss and me not wanting to end my vacation.” I throw a fake smile on top to sell it.
I catch a brief look between the mother and son that tells me they aren’t buying what I’m selling, and Sarah says, “Why don’t you two go get some dinner? I’ll run interference here. Your mother will be so busy she won’t even realize you’re playing hooky.”
Fifteen minutes later I’m doing the last thing I imagined I’d be doing tonight after my mother rolled into town like a hurricane: Sitting on the tailgate of Joe’s Bronco eating a bacon cheeseburger. We had stopped at the diner where Goldie works and she had skated them out to us in a brown paper bag with a sassy comment for Joe and a smile for me. She threw extra crinkle cut fries in the bag only for me, she had said. Now I am guarding them like a dog with a bone and Joe keeps reaching past me to steal them.
We’re parked in a gravel parking area on a high bluff that overlooks the small town. Lights are starting to blink on beneath us as the sky has gotten darker and the air has gotten cooler. My earlier irritation with my mother is beginning to fade, thanks to the cheeseburger and the distraction of Joe. He has finished his dinner and is leaning on one arm, rubbing small circles on my lower back while I nibble on the last of the fries. It’s peaceful here. If I squint my eyes, cover my ears, and hum, I can almost pretend that my break from reality isn’t ending. I sigh.
Joe’s warm hand pauses its circles and I love the heavy weight of it on my back. “Want to talk about what happened?”
“You mean when my mother crashed my vacation and committed me to be a spokesperson for a clothing line that I don’t care for? Then she forced you to allow her and her band of tyrants to take over your property for the week? Do you mean that?” I laugh and bump his shoulder with mine. I swing my feet under the tailgate, loving the rush of the cool evening air against my legs.
“Don’t worry about us. We have a different Kara Fox-type on the property every week. We know how to handle your mom.” He stays pressed against my arm, solid and steady. “But what about the clothing line thing? What’s that about?”
I fill him in on the last few hours with my mother, including an update on my restored online social status and the brand partnership news. He listens quietly, still rubbing those blessed circles on my back. I tell him about the clothing line and the plans that were made for me to represent it. The update ends with another deep sigh.
“That’s good news, right? I thought you were worried about all of that.”
“Yeah, I was.” My thoughts feel backwards. I ran away because my life was a disaster. I needed the dust to settle so I could figure out how to restore my credibility and save my job. Well, my job is saved. I mostly have my credibility back. I’m getting the huge partnershipback. I should be happy. “I don’t know why I’m not more excited about it. It’s just the end of the vacation, I guess.”
“Yeah, that’s been on my mind.” Now he’s the one sighing.
We’re quiet for a few minutes, lost in thought. I knew when I accepted a date with Joe Pratt that it couldn’t go anywhere. I knew that I would leave for California and he’d go on with his life here. My parents may not be the warm and fuzzy kind, but they’re my parents. I want to be near them. Plus, my job is in California and Joe’s life is here. Everyone overspends and overeats on vacation, knowing subconsciously that there will be consequences later. When I’m on vacation I fall half in love with men who look and act like superheroes, I guess. It’s fine. I’m going to be fine.
