Page 2 of In the Safety's Zone
“And you think that a man is going to do the things for you that I’ve done for your father?”
“I would never ask my partner to do any of the things for me that Dad has asked of you.” My jab was a direct hit, the flinch almost made me regret saying it but she needed to be brought back to the reality of her situation and mine.
My mother squared her shoulders and put her stranger smile on her face. That was her way. Vivian Harper, former Miss New Jersey wasn’t about to let anyone see that she wasn’t perfect. Even the child who’d witnessed it firsthand.
“That sounds completely backhanded.”
“I have nothing else to say on it, Mother. I’m good with my personal life and my focus for this year is on sweeping themajors. When I do that maybe then I can think about slowing down. I’m only twenty-five years old. I’m at the height of my career.”
“By the time I was your age I was already married and had you.”
I gave her a blank smile because the words that I wanted to season her truth with would only lead to an argument and I wasn’t in the mood. She could whitewash her history if she wanted to, but I lived it with her so there was no lying to me.
“Well, I guess the Lord has different paths for different people and we can’t rush things that aren’t in His time.”
Yep, I wasn’t above bringing Jesus into this if it meant she would leave me alone. If only she were this insistent about other things in life, like her self-respect.
She sighed again before perking up with the same untrustworthy smile on her face. “I’m sure there’s a certain someone from your past who would be more than happy to rekindle things with you. And he would understand your lifestyle.”
I laughed as I leaned against the countertop because she couldn’t be serious. I studied her keeping my face as neutral as possible, because I really wanted to get disrespectful. The chill that had seeped into my bones from my workout was waning but I needed to refuel. Which meant this conversation needed to end quickly.
“He doesn’t understand it, he wants to have my life and for me to trade places with him. It’s the reason he’s an ex in the first place, Mother.”
She walked toward me as though she were going to give me some sage advice. My mother took my hands in hers and gave them a squeeze.
“You’ve got to learn to let your man shine so that he can feel like a man. They love the praise and adoration of the public.”
I wanted to say she was a product of her generation but that wasn’t true. My whole family had been corrupted by money so that was truly what ruled her actions.
“If my man needs me to shrink for him to shine then his light wasn’t big enough to begin with. I’ll never settle for less with a partner because I don’t have to. No one does, but I know I’m privileged in that I don’t have to make my romantic decisions based on societal pressures. I was genetically blessed to be athletic and fairly attractive—”
She took a step back and eyed me proudly. The way people did prized pigs at a county fair: like I was a product in the store window she’d produced and couldn’t wait to show off to everyone.
“Fairly attractive? You are definitely a man’s trophy wife—”
“Which I’ll never be because I also worked my ass off to be smart. So, no amount of saying what you’ve already accomplished by the time you were my age is going to get me to just settle down with anyone. I get that enough from one parent as it is.”
I moved away from her toward the refrigerator that was camouflaged in the wall with the same white cabinetry as the rest of the kitchen. It was on one end of the wall and the freezer was on the other. In the center was the eight-burner stove my mother insisted we needed but had never used. The kitchen had undergone a remodel two years ago. She needed something to do to stay off my father’s back and he was more than happy to grant her wish if it meant she left him alone. The result was the slate gray floors and bright white cabinetry that mimicked homes she’d seen in magazines. The wicker barstools and dining chairs were still practically brand new because I can only remember eating at them a handful of times.
“And here we are. Do all of our conversations have to end up in a fight?” Her face looked apologetic but I couldn’t tell if shewas being manipulative or not. Which is why I didn’t bother to linger around her long.
“No. We aren’t going to argue. I’m more than capable of agreeing to disagree with how you feel on the subject.”
I was grabbing extra food and piling it up on the counter. I didn’t feel like running back into her tonight especially after night fell and she would start the game ofWhere’s Waldowith my dad.
“But I’m your mother. My advice should stand for something. It should hold weight in your decision making.”
I bit my lip because again; the seasoning wanted to come out and sprinkle her past in her face. My grandmother had basically told my mother to do whatever she could to keep my father, my mother now felt as though I was going to be just as obedient. She might have raised me to do whatever she wanted me to but I was more than capable of having my own opinion. No thanks to her and how she’d raised me. I turned out the way I did by watching how her life unfolded and how much I didn’t want to be like her.
“It will always hold as much weight as it should, Mother.” I grabbed the meal I needed to eat as my post-workout and gave her a quick hug, trying to prevent her from saying anything else to me.
“How many calories is that, Aphrodite? We don’t want you to get sluggish.”
That meant she wanted me to stay skinny and was worried that if I put on too much muscle then I would become less attractive. I stopped allowing her to know my weight or my body mass index because she would’ve flipped out if she had seen the number. My mother was proud to tell anyone she’d been the same weight since high school and only a minor five-month blip on the radar (being when I was gestating the last twenty-five weeks) had challenged that fact. I’m surprised I wasn’t born malnourished.
“Mom, I have this carefully weighed out and prepackaged for a reason. The nutritionist has made sure everything is balanced as a post-workout. We’ve gone through this multiple times and it’s getting old.”
The rest of the food was for later and I wasn’t going to sacrifice my ability to play to suit the image she had of her perfect child. I could feel her staring at my arms through my workout jacket and she was probably visually calculating how big my muscles were.
