"Me too," I whisper, flinging my arms around her in a tight hug.
"Everything is going to be okay," she whispers in my ear, hugging me back. "You'll see."
I let the confidence in her voice wash over me, trying to believe it.
I know Sidney and Tye both want what's best for me. And I know that Tye will get over the thought of us together eventually. I just really don't want them to fight, not because of me. I don't want to be the one the whole world blames for ruining theirfriendship, not when Sidney and I already have an uphill battle ahead of us.
But I guess that's a problem for later. The problem of the moment is on my front porch. I release Vanessa, take a breath, and then climb from the car to deal with it.
"Mom," I say, walking carefully to my front steps. "What are you doing here?"
"Did you put your brothers up to it?" she asks as Vanessa backs out of the driveway before pulling off.
"Put them up to what?"
"Don't play dumb with me, Henrietta," she snaps. "You know exactly what I'm talking about!"
I lean up against the railing, staring at her for a long moment. It's odd. My entire life, she's always seemed like this little Barbie to me—hair always perfect, makeup flawless, designer clothes. But right now? In this moment? It's hard to see anything but the cracks in the façade.
Sure, her hair is perfect, and her makeup is flawless. But the platinum blonde is fake, used to cover the gray. Her makeup hides the lines and wrinkles that the Botox didn't smooth away. Her designer clothes cover the scars left behind from who knows how many surgeries. There's nothing real about her except the hate and jealousy she's spewed at me for most of my life. Everything else is a façade, created out of the pieces of whoever she used to be.
How am I supposed to be like her when she isn't even real? When I'm not sure even she knowswhoshe is? Strip away the pretty mask, and what's left? A bitter shell.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"What?" She crosses her arms, impatient.
"Who in your life told you that you had to change everything about you to be beautiful?" I ask softly.
Her eyes narrow. "What?"
"Who told you that you have to change everything about yourself to be beautiful, Mom? Was it someone in your life? Magazines? A celebrity?"
"What are you talking about?"
"This," I say, motioning toward her. "You. Nothing about you is real, and for most of my life, I've wondered why. I've always thought you were so beautiful, you know? Like this little Barbie doll. For a long time, I hated that I looked nothing like you. But I realized that not evenyoulook like you. None of it's real. The person in front of me is just who you've turned yourself into. It makes me sad for you."
"Do not insult me," she snaps. "I'm your mother."
"But you aren't," I say softly. "A mother is someone who loves you unconditionally. They support you, fight for you, and protect you. You've never done that. You've spent my entire life tearing me down, trying to convince me that I have to change everything about me to be worthy of your love. That's not a mother."
"How dare you?" She takes a step toward me, her eyes flashing. "I raised you!"
"No," I disagree, my voice firm. "I survived you. There's a difference. We both know you've always hated me because I look like Dad. Just like we both know that you've spent most of my life trying to turn me into your daughter instead of his, just so you could finally feel like you won. But I'm not a fucking weapon you can use against the dead, Mom."
She lifts her hand like she's going to hit me.
"Touch her, and I swear to God, you'll regret it," Sidney snarls from behind me, his voice so dark it's terrifying.
Mom jumps a little, her hand falling back to her side. I don't jump, though. I don't even move. I just wait for him to come to me because I know he will. That's the thing about Sidney. He loves me in a way this woman never could. He values me in a way she'll never understand. I don't have to change to be enough forhim. I don't have to reshape myself to fit or buff away my flaws for him. He loves me, exactly the way I am.
He steps up beside me, wrapping an arm around my waist. "Are you okay, butterfly?" he asks, his impossible green eyes locked on my face.
"Yes," I whisper, tilting my face up to his.
"Have you said everything you need to say to her?"
"Not yet."
