Mom caves, sitting back down. “Thank you.”
Sully eyes me and motions to Mom. “Talk,” he mouths before slipping into the kitchen.
I focus on stacking the boxes of games on top of each other and closing the cabinet’s doors. “Mom, can we talk?”
“About what, sweetie?”
“My life…” I dig deep for my courage, preparing to bare my soul. “You never ask any more since I passed on the job at your friend’s firm. When we were at the mall we almost got into a fight.”
She focuses on shoving her thumbnail into each cuticle on her right hand. “That’s water under the bridge. You know—”
“No excuses or slipping away. We need to have this conversation. Everything needs to be out in the open for once.”
She slaps the table, anger spiking, and her top lip quivers. “You know perfectly well what I think about your career choices, Veronica Anne. How can anyone take you seriously when they ask what you do and you say you’re a damn mermaid? It’s something a little girl would say.”
I lick my lips and press my back against my chair, trying to keep myself calm and not lash out. “On the surface, I can see that. It does sound ridiculous and I do have my share of teasing when I tell a stranger what I do. But you’ve never taken the time to see what I’ve accomplished. To see any of my achievements. My career has evolved so much since my college years.”
She wrinkles her nose like she smells something rotten. “I know you work at that restaurant downtown. Pearl something.”
“The Pearl Kingdom,” I say with a heavy sigh, exhausted from this conversation already. “You and Dad have been invited countless times to come down to the restaurant for a free dinner and watch my show, but you’ve never taken the time to see how much joy I bring to others. How much joy my job brings me.” I close my eyes, settle my nerves and push past the lump forming in my throat. The fear of breaking whatever branch our relationship is barely hanging onto these past few years. “Can I show you something?” I grab my phone and pull up my website. It takes all my concentration to keep my hands from shaking.
Mom studies me for a moment, considering, but gives in. She shifts in her seat, moving closer and eyes the door, probably waiting for Dad so she can excuse herself and disappear. With the door closed, she sucks on her teeth and finally says, “Fine. Show me.”
I place my phone in front of her where my photo gallery is lazily playing a photo at a time with a five-second time lapse. “Look.” She does and interest sparks in her eyes. She accepts the phone and tilts her head as she watches the slideshow.
“When were these taken?” she asks, curious.
“They are from a few different shoots throughout the year. Half a dozen companies booked me for their corporate meetings and afterward, I passed out countless cards. Some people promised to book me again for their holiday parties. A few scheduled me to do their kid’s birthday or for a pool party. At some parties I teach the kids how to swim in mermaid tails and at other times, I’m there in character to entertain them. Throughout the summer, I was doing at least one party every other day. To the point where I started recording video messages personalized to kids and even started my own merch line.”
“Hmm,” she says, clicking on a video of a party I did three weeks ago. She turns the volume down. She then enters my store where I sell pictures of myself as wall art, pillows, and shirts. More merch is coming soon is what the site reads on the bottom. “And these pictures in your little shop are taken at the beach around here?” Her eyes are glued to the screen.
My hopes soar, but I try to keep level-headed. In the past, I’ve fallen for her traps where she acts interested in my activities, such as being in the school play in high school, but when it came to opening night, she never came to claim the tickets I had on hold for her, claiming a charity event popped up and that was more important than my short career in the arts.
“For my social media, I hire a highly recommended photographer to take my pictures at beaches, mostly all-over Southern California, but we’ve traveled for shoots too. He also specializes in underwater photography and videos. I already have over a hundred thousand followers and have been featured in two magazines so far. Fingers crossed for even bigger sponsors. Right now, I do have two local sponsors and an online store that makes and sells mermaid tails—they give me a phenomenal discount and I’m one of the main models on their site. My other sponsors are a seafood restaurant near the Santa Monica Pier and a surf shop on the Venice Boardwalk.”
I brighten, remembering the good news I saw this morning—something that got lost in the chaos of today’s photoshoot drama. “Oh—and a cruise line just picked me up! They want me to star in a commercial early next year for their newest ship. I’ll be swimming as a mermaid right alongside it in open water. It still feels surreal.”
I reach for my phone and show her the email. “There are a ton of other mermaids like me too.” I quickly find another professional mermaid’ssocial media. I show my mother her account. She has over two hundred thousand followers. “This woman is a friend of mine and she recently signed with an NFL team and they gave her a tail, and matching leggings, with their team logo. She does short videos for them right before they play a game. Some mermaids have been given free trips to destinations to help advertise resorts and beaches. With my cruise line commercial, I’m sure those doors will be opening for me soon.”
Mom nods, setting my phone down. She interlaces her fingers together, resting them in front of her like we’re in the middle of a company merger agreement and not a conversation about her only child’s life. “And how much does it cost for a company to book your services?”
Her words slice into me, cutting my heart to ribbons. I swallow the sharp retort rising in my throat and force myself to stay calm, even though shame and frustration twist in my stomach. Instead, I dive into the details—explaining how someone would go about making arrangements to work with me, trying to sound composed even as I feel like I’m being judged.
“Let me show you.” I grab my phone, find the price sheet and booking section on my site, and hand her back the device. “It depends on how long the event is and if I will be sitting in one place for the entire time or if they have a pool and want a show. For kid parties, I also have an additional package where I teach them about how to be a mermaid and provide tails for them to use.”
She glances at the price sheet and sets the phone face down on the table. Her soft but firm hands take mine in hers. She squeezes my fingers. “I had no idea there were so many parts to your career. You figured it out beautifully.”
It’s good she’s holding my hands because if she wasn’t I probably would’ve slipped out of my chair and fell onto the floor. She’s never said a nice word about anything I’ve been interested in. At least not about anything I can recall.
“I also plan to grow my online store where people can buy calendars and coffee mugs. I’m working on getting a stuffed doll designed in my image. Next year, I’m co-hosting a mermaid convention in Florida where hundreds of mermaids from around the world will be meeting.”
“Wow,” she sniffs, rubbing her nose.
I’ve been focusing on the China cabinet behind her most of the time, when not finding something on my phone, but when I take in her face, I see she’s crying. She wipes away a tear and holds my hand with both of hers. “Veronica, I’m sorry about what I’ve been saying these past few years. I never took the time to listen and learn what you do. You’re building quite the business empire for yourself. I’m so proud of you for all the hustling you must be doing to get yourself to where you are. It takes a lot of guts and courage to start a company from the ground up.”
My eyes burn and my vision blurs as tears blind me. “I learned how to hustle from the best.” My eyes flutter closed for a second as I gather my strength. “My life could never be spent sitting at a desk five days a week. Clocking in and out, doing their nine-to-five, with weekends and holidays free. I need to see the world and meet new people. Have my weeks be different from each other where I have a set schedule, but my life isn’t day-to-day predictable. It’s not the most orthodox way to live, but I have a healthy savings account and I won’t quit. I’m determined to get what I want.”
Mom stands and walks around the table to crush me in a hug. My rib cage cracks, splintering bones pierce into my heart, but I don’t fight. It’sthe first time I feel like my mother loves me for me and not out of some obligation, a little box she needs to check off. For once she accepts me and there’s no shame in her watery eyes when she looks at me.
