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Wow, that’s a lot of imaginary facts to take in. I swallow down the angry words lingering on my tongue.
I neatly place the cutlery next to my plate, taking another deep breath.
“I started pursuing tennis because I was in awe of the strength the women showed in their battles for greatness. I didn’t let Lincoln control my emotions. It was pain and anger that did. Lastly, I am not, and listen closely here, moving to Monaco for Adrian Romana. He and I are friends, just like I’m friends with Valentina and Gabriel.” I push my chair back and stand up, my heart aching from her negativity.
Mama’s eyes flood with tears, but she still glares at me.
“You can lie to yourself all you want, but your selfishness will be your biggest mistake. When you realize that, when you want to come home begging for forgiveness because you messed up, don’t count on me being there. I’ve warned you, and you have decided to ignore me. You choose this path, and I’ll not wait around for you to come crawling back, which you will. Your father may baby you and hand-feed you as if you were still a child, but I won’t,” she says.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask, but my mother just shakes her head.
I take a deep breath to fight back my anxiety. There’s a reason I hate confrontation. That reason is standing right in front of me. My entire life, I’ve never been allowed to be upset, angry, my own person outside of this family. I’ve been told to be a good child who does everything she’s told because my father had an image to protect. Being in the spotlight of Formula One means he has a reputation he carefully crafted over the years. If one of his daughters were to do something stupid, like discredit herself as a journalist for falling for the most beautiful and seemingly perfect Formula One driver, it would reflect badly on him.
And it isn’t just this, it’s everything we did as kids. It’s throwing a tantrum in a grocery store. It’s not wanting to dress up in outfits that made me feel like I was dressed in layers of duct tape. It’s not finding a job for months after I’ve finished university.
My fear of failure isn’t something my mind invented as a fun way to mess with me. It was born out of familial expectations, taking away things I wanted and replacing them with things I was supposed to want.
My mother used to yell at me and send me to my room as a child when I didn’t know what to do with all of the feelings I had. For a long time, I thought parents were supposed to do that, but after going to therapy, I realized it wasn’t. Parents aren’t supposed to punish their children for having feelings they don’t agree with. They aren’t supposed to punish their children for not playing the role that they came up with in their own heads. They aren’t supposed to send you away when you’re telling them you’re upset because they hurt your feelings. But they did. Even with Lincoln, they dismissed my hurt and focused on how I wasn’t the perfect daughter who just got along with a family friend.
So, I stopped being honest with my mother. I shut my mouth and fought my hardest for a job I didn’t even want because they kept pushing me toward it. They were the ones who told me to apply. I would have been fine finding something else, a job not in my field while I waited for a journalism company to open a spot in my department.
But they didn’t want me to waste my time in a retail position. And I didn’t want to risk disappointing them.
If my mother wants to blame anyone for the decisions I’ve made over the course of my life, she can blame herself because all I’ve ever done, every decision I’ve made, was in accordance with what they deemed was acceptable for me to do.
“Mama, I don’t want to fight anymore. Can we please find a way to figure this out?” I ask, watching her stand up.
“You’resick of fighting? Well, how do you think I feel? You’re the one who’s breaking my heart and all you can talk about is yourself. I gave up everything to raise you. My job, my time, and this is the thanks I get. An ungrateful daughter who justleaves,” she says and starts crying as she storms off without speaking to me again.
This isn’t the first time she’s given this speech either. Like I asked her to give up her life to raise me. Like Iforcedher to. I almost laugh at the absurdity of her throwing this at my head when I’m doing everything my parents ever wanted from me. I’m making a name for myself. I’m succeeding, in a way, at my new job. I’m doing what I thought they wanted me to, so I can’t fathom how she could be so angry with me.
I love my parents, but, sometimes, I never want to see them again.
Chapter 34
Adrian
Nevaehissittinginone of the seats at our terminal, her eyes fixated on the article in her hand. She told me her boss gave her a bunch of suggestions on what to do differently for the next one, and Nevaeh’s studying them like they hold the world’s biggest secrets. She looks stressed, her hands shaking like she’s anxious.
“Come on,Nevaeh, get up. You’re not torturing yourself any further,” I say after approaching her, grabbing the article in her hand, and placing it on the empty seat next to her.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were only landing in an hour,” she asks when she realizes it’s me.
A little smile appears on her lips.
I’m fucking dying to kiss her.
“My flight landed early. Now, I need you to focus,” I start, and she lets out a shaky breath, her anxiety obviously still weighing heavy on her chest. “Your article was great, and you need a distraction while we wait. Lucky for you, I am incredibly creative,” I go on, hoping my distraction will help. “Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?”
Nevaeh fishes around in her bag for a moment before handing me both. I scribble a bunch of things onto it, grinning to myself.
“I have something for you, a present, but I’ll only give it to you if you manage to get all of the items on the list before I do. The first one back here wins. What do you say?” I ask, handing her the paper so she can see what she’ll have to check off the list.
XL Toblerone bar.
A perfume bottle for no more than five euros.
A hat without a logo on it.
