Page 65 of Love You, Mean It
“I told you to let me know when you have a few days off, and I’ll book the ticket.”
“Okay, I’ll let you know. I was calling because I didn’t get my check yet for this month, and money’s tight,” she said, her words slurring a little bit as she spoke.
“I don’t send checks anymore, Mom, remember? I transferred the money directly into your account three days ago. Just like I do every month.”
“Oh. I didn’t look at the account. I kept checking the mailbox,” she said.
She didn’t thank me. She didn’t tell me that she appreciated that I contributed $500 a month toward her living expenses. She just expected it. Like I owed her.
“It’s in the account.”
“Well, you can thank your father for that, because if I had a partner, I wouldn’t have to rely on you.”
I closed my eyes and counted down from ten. Nine. Eight. Seven.
“You know what, Mom,” I said, sitting forward in the tub because I was over this same conversation, “Dad left both of us before I was born. You need to stop blaming him for everything and take control of your life. That’s what I’m doing.”
She was quiet for a few beats, so I knew she was going to weaponize her next words.
“You’ve always been ungrateful. You know, your father and I were very happy before I had you.” Her words were dragging, and I knew she was drunk.
I knew she didn’t mean it.
But it still hurt.
So, I did what I always did—I pulled my hard outer shell over my heart to shield it.
“Well, I wasn’t born yet, so I’m sorry that me being in the womb was such a struggle for your relationship.”
I was tired of her guilting me about something that I had no control over. Blaming me for her life not going the way that she wanted it to. Normally I could just bite my tongue where my mother was concerned. I’d had years of conditioning. But today, today felt different.
Seeing the way that Caroline treated Harper wasn’t sitting well with me. And maybe things were just hitting too close to home now. I was proud of Harper for having an outburst and sharing her discomfort with the situation, and maybe it was time I started doing the same with my own mother.
“What’s with the attitude, Violet?”
“I’m tired, Mom. You’re welcome for the money. You’re welcome for tolerating your abusive behavior my entire life. How about you call me when you have something nice to say, all right?”
“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” she hissed, and I knew it was the booze talking.
I shouldn’t have answered the phone.
“I won’t.” I ended the call and stepped out of the tub, drying myself off with a towel before slipping on my robe.
I will not cry.
I will not cry.
I will not cry.
I was a pro at pushing away my feelings.
The knock on the door startled me, and I tightened the belt on my robe and peeked through the little window beside the door.
Charlie.
I cracked the door open. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Can I come in?”
