“I’m fine,” I choke out, my voice shaking with nerves.
“You most certainly are not fine. What’s going on?” My mother has been activated. I can hear it in her voice that she’s ready to battle with whatever has upset me. It’s ironic really—she upsets me more than anyone, but she’s also fiercely protective.
“I, uh, I don’t know how to say this, but I think I’m in love.” I rip off the Band-Aid quickly, fully expecting her to react with rage or disappointment.
“You are?” I can hear her take a deep breath. I’m just waiting for her to tell me how disappointed she is. “That’s great, hunny,” she says instead, her voice carrying an air of relief through the line.
“What?” I ask, stunned by her reaction.
“That’s great. I’m happy for you. I’ve been trying to call you, to talk about—”
“I know, but I thought it was to yell at me, and I just couldn’t, Momma. You’re not angry? It’s not with Theodore,” I explain.
“Olivia, I have spent the past few weeks since you kicked me out thinking. I owe you an apology. I have spent most of my life trying to keep up with expectations. Your Nana never approved of me, and I think I spent so much time trying to be perfect for her, I lost sight of reality. I pushed you so hard because I thought if she saw any flaws, she’d insist we weren’t good enough for your father.”
“Momma, why would you not be good enough?”
“I am good enough, I just didn’t see that for a long time. When I met your father, I was a poor waitress working long hours to put myself through college. I didn’t have anything to my name, and I think Nana wanted him to pick someone who was more like he was,” she explains.
“But you made me feel like a failure for so many years, like nothing I did was good enough. And you have literally been trying to pick my husband for years. I hurt someone I lovebecause I was scared of never being enough for him.” The words catch in my throat as I say them. I’m glad my mom is taking responsibility for her past actions, but that doesn’t help my current situation.
“Olivia, I’m sorry. I know I hurt you over the years, I know I was hard to love, but you have never been anything but perfect. I think honestly, hunny, I was jealous of you. You’re smart, kind, and funny. I wanted to be like you and when I couldn’t, it made me mad. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but if I learned anything the day you kicked me out, it’s that walking away instead of fighting for the people you love is never the answer. If you love this man, you need to fight for him. You deserve to be happy, princess.”
“Thanks, Momma,” I say, almost a whisper.
I can’t believe she’s admitting all of this, that she’s actually apologizing. I feel like I’m in the twilight zone or something. I’ve spent my whole life under her thumb, letting her dictate my decisions and how I felt about myself. I walked away from Sam because I couldn’t stand the thought of being vulnerable with him, of having my heart displayed on my sleeve just to be picked apart.
“Tell me about this man. I need to know who he is and what he’s like,” my mom says. I can tell she’s hesitant, but why wouldn’t she be. Things have not been great in our relationship, and we’ve never been the type to over share. She has zero information on Sam, but there’s more I need to know before I tell her.
“I’ll tell you about him, but can I ask you something first?”
“Always.”
“How did you do it? I mean, when you thought you’d never be good enough—how did you continue to be brave anyway?”
My mom laughs, a throaty but delightful sound before she answers, “I didn’t have a choice. I loved your father more thanI could explain, and the thought of having even a moment of happiness with him was more important to me than the fear of what would come if he decided I wasn’t enough, or if he listened to your nana.”
“And you just went on, trying to mold yourself, even if it meant being someone you aren’t? Just so you could have that love?” I question.
“Olivia, I didn’t really change that much. Of course, I wanted to be perfect, and in the moments where we needed to be, I was, and I forced you to be too. But in the quiet moments where it’s just he and I . . . I’m the same goofy, down-on-her-luck waitress that I was when we met.”
I’m shaken to my core by her admission. It’s not like I haven’t seen that side of her before, but as the years went by, it seemed to show up less and less. I remember catching my parents slow dancing in the kitchen once when I was maybe ten. My mom didn’t have makeup on and it shocked me. Part of me feels guilty, like maybe she stopped showing me that freer side of herself because in some ways my need to strive for perfection added to her insecurities.
My momma and I talk for a little while longer, mostly about Sam. I fill her in on what transpired between us, leaving out the cursed-by-a-witch part because that may be a little too much for her to handle over the phone. I don’t know that I fully forgive her yet, but I am reassured that most of my insecurities were born out of her deep-seated fears and that I am not in fact a failure at literally everything in life.
When I hang up, my thoughts immediately race toward making things right with Sam. I know without a doubt that I love him. If the last week of misery wasn’t enough of a clue, it’s the little things. Like wanting to tell him about my mom, wanting to talk to him about the meaningless thing that happened onTop Chef, or wishing I could give him a hug right now. I realize thatthose small things are what matter, the moments that are so insignificant you’d never know they were important until they’re gone.
I rack my brain while showering, desperate to come up with some way of showing him how sorry I am, a way to tell him that I’m in love with him. But my mind keeps taking me back to the cabin and the pumpkin muffins. That was the night I started to cover myself back up, to hide who I was. Yet, it also was one of the most special memories we share. Sam went to so much trouble to make the place beautiful, and I still can’t think of those frosted muffins without blushing.
Once I’m done getting ready, it’s decided. I get changed and whip up a batch of the muffins. While I’m waiting for them to bake, I call Ari. She answers on the first ring.
“Tell me you’ve decided to go get your man!” she shouts.
“I have. I’m making him muffins right now. Then I’m going to head to Eerie to see him.”
“Yes. Good girl. Did you talk to Anne?” Ari asks.
“Yep, and she admitted that she was wrong the whole time. She told me that she always had high expectations for me because she never felt good enough for my Nana. She even admitted she used to be hard on me because she was jealous,” I explain, giving her the high-level details.
