Her only response is an eye roll.
"I know it must have been lonely, okay? But Dad was the provider of the house. You also could have gone back to work when Hailey and I could take care of ourselves. I got a job as soon as I was able to have one." I continue to look at her. She glares right back at me. "Don't use Hailey and me as your excuse like you do with dad.
"I'm giving you a chance to own up to your mistakes and to talk to someone. Dads in therapy because he wants to work on himself and work on what both of you went through during your marriage. It's nothing to be ashamed of."
"Of course, your father's in therapy. He's doing that to get attention from you and your sister."
I've officially hit my limit. I've never spoken to my mom the way I would speak to others. I think I'm going to enjoy this.
"You know you're a complete narcissist, right? Not only that, but you manipulate the shit out ofeveryone.That's why no one wants to be around you. You'll say you aren't because that's what narcissists do. They blame others. They turn it around and gaslight the person until they think they're wrong.
"I'm telling you to go to therapy so you can realize this, but you are so far gone that it will be impossible for you to change your ways. I wish I understood this sooner. If you're not willing to change yourself for your own family, then you don't deserve to have us."
Mom opens her mouth to say something, but I hold up my hand.
"No, you do not get to say anything. Your bullshit is so exhausting. I'm tired of you making me feel like I'm never going to amount to anything, and I'm done being the victim. Whether you get yourself help or not, I’m moving on."
Bracing my hands on the table, I look her dead in her eyes without blinking.
Mom cocks her head, and a snake of a smile spreads across her lips. “Look at you. Sticking up for yourself.”
Every word is covered in malice. I feel like I could vomit, but I push that sensation down.
“Why are you so mean-spirited? Obviously, you don’t care if people like you or not. What made you this way?”
“What you consider ‘mean-spirited,’” she says, using quotations around the last two words. “I consider speakingmy mind. If people can’t handle what I have to say, then that’s on them.”
“No, you’re just a giant bitch. You’ll never change. You don’t care.”
“This is who I am.” She points to herself. “If you can’t accept who I am, then I don’t know what to tell you.”
I’ve never been more disappointed in her than I am now. She’s right. She’s never going to change, but there’s some sort of comfort knowing that. Now, I can move on.
"Don't call me, don't text me, don't come around me unless you've gotten help." I push out of my chair and stand up. "Good luck, Mom."
People around us are silent, no silverware clinking against plates, no eggs frying on the stove. I’ve pulled everyone's attention without noticing, and this time, I don't care. I'm not letting my mom take control of my life anymore.
THIRTY-NINE
AUGUST
The town has a pep in its step. The flowers are in full bloom; people have switched their spring coats for T-shirts and shorts. Forty-degree weather is turning into eighty-degree weather. Surfers take advantage of the warm water when the sun is at its highest. Birds fly around chirping at one another.
When I walk into town, I'm greeted by bright smiles and kids laughing as they pass by.
But me? I still feel like I have a cloud over my head.
I gave Riley an ultimatum. Who does that? An asshole, that’s who. I had grabbed my phone, ready to apologize. As soon as I opened our text conversation, I stopped. Or my fingers stopped.
They hovered over the keyboard, and I waited to type out two words,I’m sorry,but I didn’t. Something in me didn’t think it was a good idea. Maybe my conscience? I had to practically beg her to give me a chance.
Sadness rushed over me like a wave, pulling me back into the sea. That was the second hardest day for me, thefirst being Dad getting diagnosed with cancer. I decided that I was going to lie in bed and sleep.
The day of the grand opening for Honey Cakes, I told myself everything would be okay. It’s time to move on. I’ve waited long enough. I can’t keep torturing myself like this. It’s not fair to keep punishing myself.
Plus, something has been on my mind since the opening of the bakery. The group stayed a few hours, just to see how things were going, and we made sure to keep buying things, so we weren’t the customers who took a table for no reason.
But I spied Mr. Miller, talking with Dad on the other side at a different table. There was some laughter, solemn looks, and then a hug. I hadn’t gotten around to asking what that conversation was about. It seemed private. The two of them, sitting in a corner, speaking about something that may or may not be about Dad and his cancer.
