“Hank might have said something vague to me, about something you told him.”
“Ugh.”Dahlia smacked her forehead with her palm.Hank!What a big mouth. Dahlia should have known.
“Dahlia, I know you think I was mad at you. Or upset, or something. And Iwasupset. You have no idea how hard it is to see your child in pain.” Her mom frowned. “And yes, I was excited about grandkids. Okay?” She flashed a quick eye roll. “So sue me.”
Even though so far this conversation wasconfirmingDahlia’s fears, something about her mom’s eye roll, this splash of open honesty, so unusual for her mom, made Dahlia want to laugh.
“But I was never mad at you,” her mom continued quickly. “I was . . . jealous, maybe.”
“Jealous,” Dahlia repeated dumbly.
“Yes. I was jealous when I understood that the divorce had been your idea. That it was what you wanted. But I also wasn’t surprised. You’ve always known what you wanted, Dahlia.”
Dahlia opened her mouth to interrupt, but her mom kept going.
“And even more than that, you follow through ongettingwhat you want. It’s a quality not many people have, you know. Definitely not one I’ve ever possessed, as much as I wish I did.”
Dahlia’s brain was working on overdrive to process all of these . . . feelings from a woman who rarely talked about feelings. Her mom looked downright wistful right now.
None of this made sense.
“You think . . . I know what I want?” Dahlia asked incredulously.
Dahlia threw her arm out, gesturing at the room full of boxes.
“Mother. This is not the apartment of a woman who knows what she wants. This is the apartment of a woman who’s almost thirty and moving back in with a parent.”
“Exactly,” her mom said passionately. “Please, Dahlia, if you trulywantedto stay in this apartment, you would make it happen. As someone who has known you for all of those almost thirty years, trust me, you would. But you know you need a fresh start, and so that’s what you’re making happen instead. Do you think I would have been able to tuck my tail between my legs and ask my parents for help when I was in my twenties? No, because that’s not how I was raised.”
Her mom’s eyes flashed with something akin to . . . anger? Regret?
“I would have found a job I hated and been absolutely miserable, as long as I was keeping up appearances.”
Dahlia sank back into the couch, not knowing what to say.
Her mom took a deep breath, regained some composure.
“What I mean to say, Dahlia, is that my whole life, I’ve tried to do what I was supposed to do. I never allowed myself to listen to what I actually wanted. I am so, so proud of you, that you do that, that you always have.”
Dahlia knew she should be soaking this in, letting it absorb all of the hurt inside of her, turning that hurt into something better. But instead, she just felt confused.
And a little angry, too. That apparently her mom had always beenso, so proudof her but was only actually expressing that right now.
“So you’re not . . . disappointed in me?”
“No, Dahlia,” her mom replied immediately. “Of course not. I’m sorry if . . . ” She trailed off, seemingly lost in thought.
“It’s like, since I always kept my head down,” her mom started again, “never listened to my instincts, sometimes I feel like my whole adult life has been surprise after surprise. I was surprised when you told me you were getting a divorce. If I acted poorly, that’s why. I’m sorry. But I had no idea, and from what you said, things hadn’t been good for a while. I know I’m not your dad, I know we’re not . . . friends, but a mother should still know when her child is unhappy. So I was upset at myself. And then, like I said, after I realized you were the instigator of the divorce, that you went through this horrible, scary thing because you believed in your own happiness . . .”
The moisture in her mom’s eyes reappeared then, with force, threatening to spill. But ever the queen of composure, she sniffed, wiping it away.
“I was jealous. Proud, but jealous. Which is a selfish thing to feel. I’m sorry.”
“But . . . Mom . . . sorry, I don’t get it. You went through that horrible, scary thing, too, yourself.”
“Yes,” her mother said simply. She sat stiffly, smoothing her palms over her jeans. “My divorce was different. But it isn’t appropriate to talk about that with you.”
Dahlia blinked at her. And suddenly, she got it.
