Suddenly, I’m fuming. I snap around and walk toward her until I’m inches away.
“The restaurant isn’t doing well. We’re three months past due on rent. The restaurant is fucking failing. It’s been slowly failing for years. Not that you fucking cared even to check.”
“What? What do you mean?” Mariposa says, panicked.
“You heard me. The one thing you thought you had that proved your success? It’s not real. Just like the rest of you. I came here hoping to get an investment with Luciano to save the restaurant and buy it from you so it could be under my name instead.”
“Why would you do that? And why would you lie to me about the restaurant?”
“So I can get the fuck away from you. What don’t you get? You were never there for me growing up. Roberto was. You just showed up when you wanted to show off something new you bought yourself. Then I grew up and became responsible for making sure you looked successful, buying you nice things, and lying to you about the restaurant so you could gloat to your friends. And here I was, spending this entire week trying to convince the whole family we were doing great so that you could feel proud of me that I managed to do that. But even that wouldn’t have been enough for you. So now you know the truth.”
“You think you’re better than me, Isa? No. You’re exactly like me. You buy yourself designer things all the time just to put up a facade around people. Look at you now! Wearing this fancy dress and trying to play a part.” She laughs. “You’re just like your mother.”
“You’re right. I was. Not anymore. And all these designer things I bought myself? Fake. Every single one of them. So yeah, am I a fraud? The biggest one. I lied to you, to the whole family, and myself. I lied to you about the restaurant and our success. I lied to the family about how well we were doing. And most importantly, I lied to myself that I needed to be this type of person to be accepted. Someone important to me has taught me that I would rather be with someone who loves me for who I am and not what I have. Something you never understood about Roberto—but I do. So you need to leave because I’m not going anywhere.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” I seethe.
“You can’t talk to your mother that way, Isabella.”
I start to steer her toward the door, but she resists.
“You’re right. That’s not the way to talk to your mother. But you were never a real mother to me, so I guess we’re even.”
“Stop pushing me! I can leave on my own.” She shakes me off her and turns around to face me.
“Leave,” I say between clenched teeth.
“You’re making a huge mistake, Isabella. These people are not going to accept you. They never accepted me. What makes you think you’re so special?”
“Because, unlike you, I will come forward with the truth and be myself for once. The real Isabella. Not the one who buys fake designer wallets while being months behind on rent because she’s too busy trying to keep her mother happy with material objects.”
“I should have let Roberto dance with Sofia at the quinceañera and left him there with you. I should have just run away and never come back.”
“That’s what the big fight was about? You didn’t want him to dance with Sofia for the father-daughter dance?”
“Of course not, Isabella. What would people have thought? There would have been so many questions and judgment.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Even now, you’re still worried about what people may have thought if they saw that happen. You’re vapid, and I hope one day you grow up out of this. You may be my mother, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get to tell you the truth about how crappy of a mother you were. I’m done. I’m done with the guilt, the shame, and the pressure that it is to be your daughter. The restaurant will close, and that’s my last memory of my father. You’ll have to figure out what you’ll do next because I have my own problems once that’s all done. Now, please leave. I have a lot to do.”
As my mother opens the cabin door, I walk outside with her and stand on the porch.
“Oh, by the way,” I start.
She turns around, and I snatch my father’s journal directly out of her arms.
“This is my fucking journal now. It always was, and you hated that. You knew I’d figure out the truth, and you’d lose your control over me.”
“Isabella, I didn’t want it to come to this.”
“I know you didn’t. You wanted to continue living your lavish lifestyle and keeping me under your thumb. Well, it’s over. It’s finally over. I’m done being a fraud. You, on the other hand, can do whatever you want.”
“I’m not a fraud, Isa. Everything I have is real. Everything I have done is real,” she insists as she walks away.
“Oh, Mom?” I call out.
