Over time, I’ve stopped sharing things with her. The more I shared, the harsher the criticism was. The last thing I shared with her was when I decided to go to college for accounting while also teaching yoga.
‘You have the potential to marry a man who can take care of you. Don’t you want someone who can financially support you?’
I couldn’t comprehend if that was a compliment or not.
“When’s the last time you spoke with your father?” Mom asks.
I stuff the rest of the bread in my mouth, chewing for as long as possible. “The other day. He called to see how things are going with the bakery.”
Mom grimaces. “Riley, chew and swallow your food before you speak.”
Too bad the dock isn’t open due to the freezing weather. It could’ve sped up this conversation, and we wouldn’t need to speak about Dad.
Mom stares at me over her wine glass. She tucks a strand of the same blonde hair as me behind her ear. People look at us and think we’re sisters. I swear, every time a person tells us that, it’s like she levels up in a video game. We have the same eye color, the same lips, even the same freckles—except she covers hers up with pounds of makeup. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen her without makeup on.
“And what did the two of you talk about?” she asks in a polite tone, but there’s a bite to it.
I lift a shoulder. “Just catching up on things.”
I lock eyes with our server, who stops by with our plates of food. I sit up straight, eager to eat an actual meal.
“Here is your chicken Caesar salad with a side of fries.” He sets my plates down. “Do you need another Diet Coke?”
The large bowl of bright green lettuce, shaved parmesan sprinkled on top, and juicy chicken with croutons makes my stomach rumble.
“Yes, please,” I say with eagerness.
The server sets Mom’s garden salad in front of her as she continues to glare at my own food. “That’s a lot of dairy, Riley.”
“I know, Mom.”
I’m also working on not letting her guilt-trip me about my food choices. She picks at her salad, stabbing a piece of spinach, tomato, and cucumber before taking a shy bite. I force my eyes to stay in place and not roll to the back of my head.
“Has your father said anything about the divorce?” she asks.
After Dad dropped the news to my sister and me, he moved out of the house and to the next town, which is thirty minutes from here. He always kept himself busy, so his moving out of Dove Point doesn’t make a big difference for me.
“No. Why would he?”
“I just assume he tells you things.”
Before I answer, I take a large bite of my salad and then a fry. I make sure to chew thoroughly so I don't disturb my mother with food in my mouth.
Eat like a lady.
I choose my words carefully when I speak about Dad with her. She’s already talked about what she knows with her girlfriends. Her friends are the chattiest folks in town. Mom knows it’ll get back to Dad. That’s how she works.
“He’s too busy to stop and chat.” I throw another fry into my mouth. “You know I don’t want to be in the middle of this. It’s stressing me out.”
“This is stressingyouout?” She points a manicured finger at me. “You don’t need to deal with the lawyers and argue with your father about who gets what. You don’t know stress until you go through something like this.”
My body shrinks down into my seat. “Okay. Sorry.”
We sit in silence for a beat. Silverware clinks against glass dishes, and other patrons murmur to one another. My teeth dig into the side of my cheek.
She sets her wine glass down before asking in a monotone voice, “How are things going with the bakery?”
“It’s going well.” I perk up, desperate to grab her attention. “Luckily, we didn’t need all this construction, just the counter where the register will be with the glass display. We’re painting today. We’ve chosen this creamy tan color. It’s nice.”
