“I’ve had boyfriends,” I protested. Short-lived high school relationships, yes. I still liked them nonetheless.
“None of them captured your attention quite the same, though.”
My cheeks burned from her spot-on observation. “Didn’t think you noticed.”
“A mother notices a lot about her children.” She gave me a shrug and started wiping lotion on her skin.
“You just never seemed like that kind of mother.” My statement was supposed to be a thought. Something fleeting and common because I often felt this kind of sentiment about her.
I couldn’t take it back now. With my words out in the open, I expected to feel the powerful urge to apologize. Not long ago, I would have tried to retract the statement and smooth it over with something excessively nice. This time, I simply kept quiet and waited for her response. Because I needed to hear it without trying to make things easy for the both of us.
“I’m not,” she agreed. Mom looked a little surprised at my comment. It surprised me to hear her admit to being standoffish.
“Never wanted to be.” She tossed the lotion into her gym bag and pulled out her phone and earbuds. Silent time was approaching. “But you’ve always been smart enough to know that. And understand it. I think that’s why I preferred the experience of raising you over Nate.”
My eyebrows furrowed, showing my initial confusion. She loved bragging about Nate. Who wouldn’t? He was what she wanted to be. And what I wasn’t.
After thinking over it for a second, her words suddenly felt like a puzzle piece hidden underneath a cup. I’d been searching for it after almost finishing the puzzle days ago. She preferred me because I didn’t threaten her reality. I didn’t want to threaten her reality until now.
“Can I ask something?”
She nodded, not at all ready for what I was about to say. “Let it out.”
“Why did you do it?” I lowered myself onto the bench in front of the lockers. “The doping, I mean. Because you lived in a world where you were almost perfect and you jeopardized that. That doesn’t seem like you, but it is. So why?”
Mom blinked, staring at me like she didn’t recognize her own daughter. I’d never been a questioner. She was used to hearing my answers. Causing problems was something she assumed she’d disciplined out of me.
“Doesn’t seem like me,” she repeated in a murmur. “Kira, parent me and real me are very different people.”
“No, I know that.” I folded my legs under myself to get comfortable for some long, open explanation. There was some hollow hope in my chest she’d want this conversation to last longer than a few minutes. “It’s just the little part I know about you that enjoys being seen as someone to look up to. You risked it all.”
“And lost it all,” she finished for me as she put her earbuds in. I was losing her.
“Not everything was lost,” I tried to comfort and reel her back in.
“Everything that mattered.” She unlocked her phone and started searching through her music. I assumed that was her cue that this conversation was over. My shoulders sagged as I turned to my bag to finish prepping.
Whenever I made a mistake as a kid, Mom would give me the silent treatment. It could be something as small as breaking a glass or something bigger, like getting a failing grade on a report card.
Dad would follow suit, convinced he had to be a united front with her. Nate, being just a kid and nearly as small as I was, did the same.
The longest they went without talking to me was for three weeks. It was a summer in which all my friends had either gone on vacation or couldn’t come over to play. I was alone with my thoughts in silence as my family conversed with just each other.
During that time, I started practicing perfection. I organized my room so that every unnecessary thing was disposed of and kids have a lot of “unnecessary” things.
I practiced doing my hair in tight, neat plaits so that no strand was out of place. I obsessively aligned my books on the shelves and shoes on the rack.
Each morning, I counted how long it took me to make my bed, shower and put on a perfect outfit - clean of stains and wrinkle-free before going downstairs.
The goal was to be so efficient and on time that they couldn’t ignore me. If my room was consistently clean, then Mom would have to make a praising comment. If my hair was nice enough, Nate would ask me to do his. If my bookcase was organized to the tee, Dad would want me to do the same for him.
For them, I became perfect. Because all I wanted was one word. One acknowledgment. One sign that my imperfection was forgiven and I could be theirs again.
I’m not sure what made Mom talk to me after those three weeks were up, but I knew for a fact that it was something to do with my transformation. My attempts at perfection. So I continued, and continued, and continued…
I haven’t stopped since. No slips-up. Not even one day. I think today was finally time to break the streak.
“I risked it,” Mom started again in a hesitant tone. “Because the reward seemed worth it. If I got gold, I would have been the first in our family to do something of note. That’s worth the risk. Besides, I wasn’t supposed to get caught.”
