“Oh, I rather liked him.”
I point a cookie at her. “No, Mom, you liked his abs.”
She laughs to herself. “Well, maybe so, but didn’t you as well?”
I swallow hard, the memories of his impeccable body coming to mind. “Yes, but I’m coming to learn that beautiful things often hold something sinister inside.”
My mother waves me off. “Oh, please. Every man has his demons. It’s just whether they’re worth the battle or not. I gave up on working through your father's with him. But I found I could work with Barry’s.”
It's strange sometimes, the way my mother speaks of my father. Sometimes, it feels like he’s still alive, the way she continues to speak about their differences. It hurts other times, knowing he’s not here at all. I have, however, always been grateful that he never became a taboo topic after his death, and that my stepfather shows no jealousy when we speak openly about him.
In fact, it was Barry who once insisted on driving me out to the farmhouse when it sold, organizing with the realtor for me to walk through one last time.
My phone buzzes, and I sigh, combing my fingers through my hair, when I see my agent's name.Fuck. I still haven’t updated her on the collection, and she’s most likely calling because of something she’s seen on social media. I’m tempted to go online and see what everyone is saying, but I grew tired of that the first time Meredith made her accusations.
My mother looks down at the phone. “How long will you avoid her calls… and your work?”
I rest my head back against the chair and stare at the ceiling. “I can’t switch it on like a light. Despite my reputation, I’m not a machine. I just can’t paint right now.”
My mother considers me for some time. “Why do you stay in that small apartment? You could live anywhere in the world. You know, there’s always your room here as well.”
“Yeah, because Barry would love it if I returned, interrupting you lovebirds.”
“You know he loves you as if you were his own daughter.”
While that might be true, he’s never felt like, or been able to replace, myfather. And no matter how much time goes by, there will always be a longing or curiosity toward what my relationship with my father would’ve looked like had he lived.
And if I’m being honest with myself, I've never had it in me to trust another man not to leave again. After my father passed away, the harder Barry tried to fill his shoes, the more distance I forced between us, convinced that just like my father, he, too, would eventually abandon me.
It’s not fair to project that onto him. By the time I understood it, I was already an adult, and the relationship we had solidified. The only people I’ve somewhat depended on are my mother and my closest friends. But even then, I never asked any of them for help.
It always felt like I was preparing for them to leave at any moment, and I created a nonchalant persona around that fear. So, I traveled instead, ensuring they were used to my absence, and making it feel like I was the one in control of the distance—instead of facing the reality that I was running away.
I bite my bottom lip, knowing this recent article will affect my reputation. I don’t regret slapping Meredith, but I hate how it impacts my family. She’s a coward, and I always findit ironic that she says she hates me and my family because of our wealth, but then goes to such lengths to try to sue us for an exorbitant amount simply because I want to protect her daughter's memory.
A glum memory returns, one where Lorraine’s depression kicked in heavily within the first six months of moving in together, and she’d taken too many pills. I swallow, trying to shove the thought down. It was always her mother who triggered her, and while I’m frozen in place trying to keep her safe—her memories, her home, her belongings—her mother wants to continue taking.
I look up to my mother and hold her hand. “I don’t say it enough, but I love you.”
She seems surprised. “I love you too. Don’t worry, sweetheart, this is only a season. We’ll deal with this.”
I know that. Yet I don’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. My constant anger is exhausting.
I know Lorraine's not coming back. I’ve been trying to run away from accepting that because it justhurtsso much. All I could do was fight myself, until a six-foot-something asshole thought he was entitled to my time and space.
I sigh, irritated that, once again, I’m thinking about Dante. Amongst all the chaos, he somehow feels like a safe haven, which makes no fucking sense since he’s a problem in himself. In fact, he’s more than a problem—he’s a catastrophe.
“Why don’t you go out of town for a few days? I know these past few months have been tough for you. Go out to the country. I know how much you love it out there. Let us deal with this.”
“Mom, you don’t have to fight my battles for me.”
She bristles. “Please. I’m always here for you, and the moment someone comes for my daughter, I will step in—always.”
Tears threaten to spring to my eyes. My mother and I might not align on some things, but no matter what, she’s always been there for me. And there might’ve been truth in Lorraine's words. Maybe I have taken that for granted.
I look down at Borris. The little guy has passed out on my lap. At the very least, no matter what I might’ve lost, I have him.
“I’ll keep him for a few days while you go and have some time for yourself,” she pushes. “Have some time outside of that apartment, and really think about how you want to move forward.”
