If our traditions weren’t archaic and downright misogynistic I would be the heir to the Irish Mob.
It’s disappointing.
The fact that pa and ma are arranging a marriage to make him the heir instead of me is not only disheartening, but also insulting.
“I had an arranged marriage with your pa and we grew to love each other, deary.” She tries to mollify my impending hell.
“Only because you and pa took the time to share your interests and work upon the marriage. You made the best of an unfair situation.”
“Sebastian is a good man, Imogen, and he will make a fine husband.” She tries again and fails.
“I shouldn’t have to settle for fine,” I stress the word, imploring with my eyes for her to understand. “You and I both know I’m the rightful heir. Sebastian isn’t needed.”
Her smile is full of sorrow. “Rightful heir or not they will never allow you to lead, deary. This is a glass ceiling we can’t break.”
My eyes narrow as my cheeks flush with anger. “Can’t or won’t?” I challenge her.
She sighs defeatedly. Putting to rest the book in her hands she leans across the center table to grasp my hands in her own. I stare down at ma’s hands. Hands that bear scars from the abuseof her own ma. I fight the urge to cry. And yet tears prick at the back of my eyes threatening to fall.
“Do you honestly believe an arranged marriage is what I want for my daughter?” Her voice is hushed but tender. “For her to be wed and bed by a man she hardly knows and to bear a child to become future heir?” Tears blur her line of vision as she furiously blinks them away. I’ve only seen ma cry twice in my young life. One when we had been given the news of Niall’s death. And two, at his burial. She wept endlessly that day. So much so it could fill the rivers. I had worried with each wrack of her sobs she was losing another piece of herself. And in a way she had. She no longer is a ma to a son. That piece of her, the piece only Niall could fill is empty. And it always will be.
“I am trying for the sake of your pa to go along swimmingly with his decisions. And I hear your cries, Imogen. I see the pain this brings you. And I know you see this as a betrayal. But this life we lead isn’t fair nor is it kind. It’s cruel and cutthroat. It’s a life I don’t wish for anyone, especially you.”
My eyes plead with her as I all but beg, “Then convince pa to break this charade of a marriage. Convince him that Sebastian is not the man who should lead this family.”
Her face falls. “Don’t you think I have tried deary?”
“Then try harder.”
“If it is not to Sebastian then it will be to someone else. The only comfort I can find in this arranged marriage is to know with him you will be safe, Imogen. He may never grow to love you but the man will never raise his hand at you. I can’t say the same for many others.”
Anger rises within me. I can feel the flames licking my skin. “And I am to be comforted by this? To be happy my soon to be husband will not abuse me?”
Ma’s eyes plead for me to understand but I can’t help but feel jaded. “No. No, I am not expecting you to feel comforted in thefact that a man will not raise his hand at you. But this world we live in, that's what is expected.”
The harsh reality of my world is a bitter pill I refuse to swallow. This will not be my fate. I forbid it. Ma senses it. She sees the sheer determination in my eyes. It’s the Irish blood that not only makes me proud but also stubborn.
“Your marriage to Sebastian is a duty you have to fulfill to the family. One you must take responsibility for your pa not to be made a weak leader.” I feel hope deflate within me. The darkness is crowding my line of vision. My poor heart aching so fiercely that I clutch my chest. I cast my eyes downward so ma can’t see the tears wanting to make their appearance. “But,” I hear her say and the light casts upon me with renewed hope, “you are a very clever and smart young wee. Always have been deary. And if you are to find yourself the night before the marriage climbing down the lattice and bypassing your pa’s men. . . Well, I suppose you keep pushing ahead and don’t look back.”
And while I love my pa to pieces this is why I utterly adore and cherish my ma. Her selfless heart is prepared to lose another one of her children because she knows I will never be happy.
“This isn’t goodbye ma,” I promise her in a choked whisper.
Her eyes shimmer as she smiles bittersweetly.
“But my sweet deary, Imogen. It is.”
She kisses my hands and I feel my heart burst. The tears that have been begging to fall come pouring out. Ever so gently she wipes them with the brush of her thumb before palming my face.
I see it then. I see how her eyes capture every detail of my face. Down from the constellations of freckles that I’ve always loathed but she’s always loved, to the blue of my eyes that borderline on the shade of grey just like hers. I've never found them as beautiful except when looking at her.
The tears she was desperately holding at bay managed to escape. A tear drop falls. Followed by two then three. A river of grief for the daughter who will live without her.
Seeing ma cry is worse than death itself.
“I won’t go. I won’t leave,” I find myself saying to heal her pain.
She offers me a watery smile. “You’d resent me if you stayed.” I go to open my mouth but she silences me with a leveled stare. “You would. You’re saying this now because that beautiful heart of yours doesn’t want to see me cry but I know a year from now you will look back and wish you had gone.”
