I don’t know if it’s Seth Rogen’s weed, the fact that Xander is gone, or Em’s proposal, but something in me snaps at seeing my mother’s over-the-top veneers sitting inside a bullshit smile even I can see straight through. It’s her eyes—they’re the dead giveaway.
She’snotfucking happy.
I need to talk to my mom. You don’t watch (and rewatch) 324 episodes ofCriminal Mindswithout learning that in order to catch a serial killer, you need to understand how they think. And since Mom wrote the fucking manifesto-turned-reality-TV show on what happens when you ask one person to be “all” for you, she’s the one to give me answers.
In the formal living room of Mom’s apartment, I wait. And wait. And wait. Don’t let the wordformalthrow you. It’s the only room in her apartment that feels like home to me. I’ve come to know the comfiest grooves in the chesterfield armchair I’m currently reclining in as I wait.
Sitting opposite me is her assistant, Annie. I use the termsittingloosely. She’s more perched on the edge of the sofa, waiting for Mom to summon her at any moment.
“Annie!” Right on cue, my mother’s voice punctures the silence. Annie is up before I can blink, which tells me she must have a killer squat at the gym, and leaves.
I pull out my phone and mindlessly scroll through my messages, landing on the text chain from Xander. His last message reads:Lol. Something like that.The subtext:Everything’s changed. Fuck, it stings. Like a metaphorical knife has weaseled its way into my heart and is staying put. It’s part of my body now. I have to live with it. And the pain. I have a thought that maybe I should just bail. That this conversationis too hard to have anyway. But the rejection message drives the knife in further, making my heart ache. I need Mom to comfort me, to tell me I did the right thing, to soothe this pain.
“Mom!” I scream after the waiting goes on just a few minutes too long. You can put the kid in a formal room, but you can’t make her act like a grownup.
“I’m here, I’m here,” she says as she rounds the corner, wearing head-to-toe athleisure. The boxy oversized T-shirt has big black letters that spell out IVY PARK. Of course she’s wearing Beyoncé’s brand. And of course she got the one item of clothing that shouts the brand at you from fifty yards away.
“Well, this is an unexpected visit,” she says as she leans in for the double kiss. After remembering the shit she pulled at the wedding, I offer her nothing. “I have cake!”
And just like that, Annie appears around the corner with a small slice of thick white icing around three layers ofsomething. And a teeny fork.
Great. Wedding cake. Arguably the most disgusting cake available to eat.
This day just keeps getting worse. I almost ask Annie to wrap it up in foil so I can rage eat the gross cake in the comfort of my own home when I remember why I’m here. Also, Annie has already disappeared.
“I need to talk to you about you and Dad,” I say, surprised at how little my voice sounds. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m supposed to be pissed off. Not regressing to a tween who’s walking on eggshells around her emotionally unavailable mother.
“Oh,” she says, like I’ve caught her off guard. It’s only a moment, and by the time she takes a seat in the opposite armchair, she’scomposed. The whole scene reminds me of a therapy session. Which probably isn’t far off the mark for today’s impromptu conversation.
“Sure, what do you want to talk about?” she says, crossing one leg over the other like she’s getting comfortable. There isn’t anything comfortable about sitting with one leg crossed over the other.Stop stalling, Ash.Fuck. Okay, here goes. I take a shallow breath. The only kind my body will let me take.
“When I caught Dad cheating, I was devastated,” I say, stopping, hoping she’ll jump in. But she didn’t become aNew York Timesbestselling author, international therapist sensation, star lecturer, and now TV host by not being good at her job. She holds the space and waits for me to continue.
“But you fucking lost it. All hell broke loose,” I say. I feel like my core is shaking. Like it’s been holding this conversation in for fifteen years and finally, I get to let it all out.
Again, she doesn’t speak. Holding the space. I rush ahead, filling it in.
“Ilistenedas you told me you loved Dad with your whole heart while simultaneously cursing his name.” The shaking from my core spreads to my heart.
“Iwatchedwhen you forgave him over and over again because sex is fleeting only to throw him out of the house after another affair.” The shaking spreads to my lungs.
“Itook it to heartwhen you wrote an entire book declaring that you don’t have intimate relations with the people you love like it was sanctimony,” I say, the shaking now spreading to my voice.
“That’s why I walked out on Xander eleven years ago. That’s why I walked out on him today. Your book, based on your volatilerelationship with Dad, became my rules.” I didn’t realize I’d raised my voice at the end.
And then it hits me.
“And now he’s gone,” I whisper.
All because I walked out on him again.
Before I can control myself, I burst into tears.
“Oh, Ash.” My mom breaks from playing therapist, gets up off the chair, and hugs me.
I don’t know how long I cry for, but eventually, the tears subside. I pull back and look at Mom. To my surprise, she’s distraught. It’s enough to make me catch my breath. I’ve never seen her look perturbed. Not once.
“Ash, when your father cheated on me, I was absolutely devastated too. The only way I could get through the heartbreak was to write,” she says, sighing. “And so I wrote the stupid book.”
