Sometimes I wonder though. If she was like this when Dad was alive. Or if his sudden death has made her even more stern.
Because it can get exhausting at times. It can get tiring, trying to meet her approval, trying to be perfect 24/7.
But it is what it is.
I have to pay the price if I want to be The Blond Arrow, don’t I? Plus, she’s my mother. She has brought me up herself, made sacrifices for me.
I owe her everything.
“I think we should talk about it, about your mother,” Dr. Bernstein says.
“I think we shouldn’t.”
She stares at me a beat. “Can’t you just quit? Your job, I mean.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I made a mistake and I have to pay for it.”
“You know, it’s okay to not beat yourself up like this.”
As soon as Dr. Lola fucking Bernstein says this, I’m reminded ofher.
The girl with thirteen freckles and a penchant for dangerous and desolate places.
My secret keeper friend.
My secret keeperfriendwho tried to kiss me.
She tried to put her mouth on me like some kind of a lovesick schoolgirl.
How naïve does she have to be to do that? How fucking reckless and careless to try to kiss someone as angry and as agitated as me.
How fucking stupid?
And so, my next words to my therapist come out clipped. “Maybe it’s okay for you and for other people to not beat themselves up. But it’s not okay for me. If I don’t beat myself up, then I make mistakes. If I make mistakes, then I’m not perfect. If I’m not perfect, then I can’t be who I am. I can’t be The Blond Arrow. So maybe it’s okay for other people to cut themselves some slack. But I don’t get that luxury because I have to be my father’s son. I have to make his dream come true.”
Thirty minutes later when I leave my therapist’s office, I get a text.
It’s my mom.
I’ve been trying to avoid this, avoid having an actual conversation with my mother about everything. I’ve been making excuses, staying away from the house and living in a motel, but I guess I can’t anymore.
Because she wants to have dinner Friday. And if I don’t go to her, she’ll come to me, and even though Friday is a couple of days away, my skin has already started to crawl.
My anger has already started to burn.
Because something that wasn’t supposed to happen, happened and almost destroyed everything that I’ve worked for.
My father’s dream.
I’m sorry, A. I didn’t mean for it to happen…
Chapter Eleven
Someone trips me up and my books fall to the floor.
