Page 3 of Beauty Beneath the Sorrow
“Aren’t you going to askhow she did?”
My mother lets out an audible sigh. “How did she do?”
“She got all As, except not all were earned. She’s using sex as an exchange for smart guys to write her papers for her,” I say without a thought.
Silence.
“Well, I’ve tried to talk with her. She’s exactly like you, Lina.” Her callous comment comes from her lack of knowledge about why I am the way I am.
That one night in high school, the night that gave me a picture of what guys wanted from girls like me—ones who blossomed quicker than the others. It’s terrifying how one single event rewired my young teenage mind. Now, as a woman, I still live with the darkness from that night, even ten years later.
Blacking out for a brief moment as I’m flooded with the same terror and anger from that night, I barely hear my mom continue speaking.
“I’m sure you’ll have a better time getting through to her.” I realize quickly what she’s implying. She’s pushing her responsibilities on me. Our mother would rather me, as her oldest daughter, take care of her youngest. Zoe doesn’t fit into her daily affirmations of being entitled and better than others. It’s easier to push non-priorities away.
“I told her it was fine as long as she passes and gets her degree.”
“That’s probably what I would have said,” she rushes out. “Now, I think you need to reconsider. I’ve already committed on your behalf.”
“Committed to who? It’s your and Elijah’s cocktail party.”
“It’s been two years, and I wish you’d try to give him a chance,” she says. Now, her voice is back to a regular tone becausewe’ve shifted the conversation back to her.
I flip my hair to the side, exasperated with this conversation. The last thing I want to do when I’m mentally drained is to hang out with another one of my mom’s boyfriends. “Because Mom, it’s still weird, and I know it’s weird for Zoe too.”
“How is it not weird for your father to date younger women, but I can’t be with older men?” she counters.
My mother and father had me at the beautifully young age of sixteen. I was a complete surprise—obviously. They were together for some time. After high school graduation, my dad went into the Navy, and my now-very wealthy mother, with her newly rich and selfish parents, gained full custody of me. My dad was left in the dust, unable to reach his only daughter. It took until I became an adult for us to reconnect again. It’s still a touchy subject, but we’re finally working on mending our broken relationship. As an adult, I hope to create something new out of it.
“I’m not going to talk to you about Dad,” I dismiss.
“Fine, fair enough. You do whatever you want with that relationship. Remember when you got all chummy with your dad, I had to raise you alone,” she so graciously reminds me.
She will claim to anyone who will listen that she had somerags toriches working hard for her money as a single parenttagline, but the reality is, she had a ton of support. My childhood was spent at my grandparents’ house with two full-time nannies and without a care in the world. My mom married a wealthy man the first chance she got—which eventually led to my lovely sister Zoe.
But she still spouts off that she did it all alone.
I’ve never liked that side of her. It’s fake and disrespectful to true struggling single mothers. It makes me sick to think about it.
“Anyway, I’m not going,” I say more directly this time. “Have a good night.”
“Fine. I’ll have to tell Elijah that you won’t be making it again,” she complains like I have two shits to give about what he or what my mother thinks. Her frustration is about how it will look to other people.
“Oh, Mom, be careful. His sixty-five-year-old heart might not be able to take that type of unfortunate news,” I respond, stifling the laughter at my joke.
“Lina!”
I briefly take the phone away from my face to laugh. “Sorry, that was mean.”
“Goodbye,” she huffs.
I plug my phone into the charger and head downstairs into the living room. Zoe sits on the couch with her legs tucked under her and a math book on her lap.
“Ugh, god. I hate math.” I grimace, plopping into the oversized chair next to her. “Seeing you do your homework is like reliving horrible college memories all over again.”
She stretches her arms above her head like she’s been sitting awhile. “How’s mom?”
“In rare form, like always.”
