Page 75 of Halstead House

Our walk up the stairs from the ballroom had been frosty and heavy with expectation. The best way I could describe it would be like a roller coaster. Our life together as mother and daughter had been the long, slow, steep climb to the top, and the drop was looming ahead of us.

Mother had seated herself immediately on my bed and looked at me, inviting me to open the discussion. I’d faltered for a few moments, opening my mouth only to close it again, before finally saying the thing I’d always needed to stay and had never been able to.

“I feel like I’m living a life that was created for me, and it doesn’t fit.” I’d sat down hard on the window seat and dared to look to Mother to see how she was taking this.

“Success, security, a devoted parent, a good job, a nice home... yes, I can see how those things would be so uncomfortable,” she’d replied sarcastically.

I’d taken a breath and looked out the window. I couldn’t allow the swelling importance of this discussion to flip into emotional warfare. I had to practice what I’d learned as a child and keep my emotions at bay. I’d gazed back at her after a few calming breaths, and my heart had pinched. She was aging. Her dark hair was becoming grayer. The lines around her lips had deepened. Mother had always been thin, with the sharpness of her personality mirrored in the sharpness of her body, and as she aged she seemed to grow even more so.

“I do appreciate all you’ve done for me.” It was the first time, perhaps, that I’d said those practiced words and realized that I meant them. I did have a good life. While I’d been pressured into many of my choices, I’d avoided potholes in life and had landed in a stable place. “However,” I said as she opened her mouth, “there comes a time when a child becomes an adult and flies the nest. I’ve never had that chance.”

Mother had scoffed. “You talk as though I’ve smothered and mistreated you.”

“Smothered, yes. Mistreated, well, that’s harder to explain.”

Her eyes had grown round before turning into slits. “How dare you accuse me of mistreating you. Was it mistreatment when I cared for you, paid for all your needs, saw to it that you had an education?” Mother had played deep, and I had expected nothing less.

“There are different ways to mistreat a person.” My voice had begun wobbling, and I’d cleared my throat and swallowed hard. “Physically I have always been treated well. Mentally and emotionally, well, that’s a different story, Mother.” I’d cleared my throat again, feeling exposed and terrified to be verbally expressing things I’d only recently begun to openly think. “It isn’t natural to control every aspect of your child’s life, or to make her feel as though she’ll never have your approval if she makes her own decisions.” Then, I’d dropped what I saw as the biggest bomb of them all, the most well protected center of my existence. “I’ve always felt that your love for me is conditional on my behavior. That you’ll only love me if I do what you say.”

Her eyes had rolled and she’d pinched her lips. “Do you think you’re the first daughter to have her life dictated by the adults around her? Do you think my parents allowed me to live wild and free, chasing after every whim? Of course not. I’ve been a good mother to you, leading you with my experience and loving you much more than I was ever loved. My parents would see my indulgences of you as a failure.”

Instead of immediately responding, I’d watched a fleeting vulnerability flit across her face as she’d looked toward the wall. It was the first I’d heard of her upbringing. I’d never known my maternal grandparents. She’d never spoken of them. Now, instead of seeing the control and manipulation as a trait of hers, I was seeing it as a cycle handed down in our family. I didn’t know how long it had been happening, but I did know it needed to end. Apparently, that part would be in my hands.

“I need to direct my own life from this point forward,” I’d stated when she finally looked back to me.

“You will fail.” Her words had left me feeling flayed alive.

“I’ve been given good instruction, as you yourself said. I’m asking you to trust me to take it from here.”

“So far you’ve given me no reason to trust you. The first decision you’ve made for yourself was to run away to this island and dessert your mother.”

I had stood my ground. “I’m asking for some boundaries.”

Her eyebrow had risen. “Boundaries?”

My heartbeat had been strong enough to feel in my fingertips. “Yes. I’m asking you to respect my freedom to choose for myself. When I want your counsel or opinion on something I’ll ask. Otherwise...”

She’d thrown up a hand, her face once again livid. “Otherwise, I can jump in the lake. You’re trying to sugar coat it, but the message is the same: Butt out or get out. Well, here’s something you need to understand. You can make your own choices, but you can’t choose the consequences.”

She’d stood in preparation to storm out of the room, but I’d thrown in one last word before the door had slammed behind her. “I do love you, Mother, and hope you can still love me, even if you disagree with what I’m doing.”

The silence she’d left behind her had been loud and clear.

Gradually the sounds of the ocean waves brought me back to the present, and I turned to see Lucas looking directly at me. “I think I might need therapy,” I said quietly, the words barely heard above the scraping of the sand beneath our feet as we strolled along.

I thought he might laugh, thinking I was joking. He didn’t. “That’s not a bad idea.”

His reaction gave me courage to say more. “I don’t know where to begin dealing with the fact that I’ve been held hostage my entire life. Taking those blinders off hasn’t been pretty.”

“It’s not going to be easy to make the kind of changes you’re hoping to make,” he sympathized with me. “But, from what I’ve seen, you’re up to the task.”

I appreciated his vote of confidence. “When I think about the fact that it’s been twenty-five years of non-stop manipulation, well, it’s overwhelming. I’m doing now what most people do in high school. Pushing back against parents and finding their own beliefs and way of doing things. I’m such a late bloomer.”

We were quiet again for a few moments before he changed the topic slightly. “I wanted to see how your talk with Lillian went, but that wasn’t the only reason I sought you out tonight.”

“Oh?”

“I owe you an apology.”

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