Page 16 of Married As Puck
“Okay, spill,” I say, leaning back in my, “Your voice is doing that thing. You know—the whole soft and evasive thing. Don’t tell meyou’re eating chips again and trying to pretend it’s celery. I’ll know.”
Julia sighs. “I’m not eating chips.”
“That’s what a chip eater would say.” I grin although she can’t see me.
“Brie.”
“Julia.” I mimic her tone back, sing-song, because if I let her sink into silence, she’ll drown in it and take me with her. “So? What is it?”
There’s a pause. I imagine her pacing, probably running a hand through her hair like she always does when she’s thinking too hard. My chest tightens even though I can’t see her.
“It’s my mom,” she says finally, her voice quiet.
Ah. There it is.
I straighten a little. My back complains, but I ignore it. “Your mom? What happened? Don’t tell me she’s run off to Bali with a yoga instructor named Sven, because honestly, that would be iconic. Painful, yes, but iconic.”
“Brie, be serious.”
“I’m trying, I promise. Just… tell me.”
“She’s been calling me. A lot.” Julia’s words come out clipped, like they cost her something. “And I’ve been ignoring most of them. Today she left this long voicemail about how I never visit, how I act like I don’t even have a family anymore…”
“Classic guilt trip,” I mutter, twirling a pen between my fingers. “Did she at least start with the whole ‘I carried you for nine months’ opener? Because, you know, points for consistency.”
Julia laughs under her breath, but it’s hollow. “Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time.”
“And how does it make you feel?” I ask, my mock-therapist voice sliding out before I can stop it. “Other than, you know, wanting to throw your phone into the nearest river.”
“Brie—”
“No, no, I’m serious now.” I put a hand to my chest even though she can’t see me. “Your voice… I don’t know. You sound like it’s sitting on you. Heavy.”
There’s another pause and then he speaks up again, “It is.”
My throat closes up. For a second, the dramatic comeback I had queued dies on my tongue.
“I don’t know how to deal with her anymore,” Julia continues. “Every time she calls, it’s like I’m thirteen again. I’m back in that house, listening to her criticize everything I do, everything I wear, everything I am. And I just… I can’t go back there, Brie. Not even in my head.”
My stomach twists. I tap my keyboard with my pen, rhythmic, just so I don’t blurt out something reckless. “So, you ignore the calls instead.”
“Yeah.”
“Because picking up feels like opening the door to the past.”
“Yeah.”
I take a breath, long and steady. “Okay. So, step one, we acknowledge that Julia is, in fact, not thirteen anymore. You’re a grown-ass woman. You pay taxes. You do your own laundry. You buy your own—what’s that weird kombucha you like again? That alone makes you powerful.”
“Brie—”
“Nope, let me finish. Step two, we recognize that her opinion, while loud and obnoxious, is not the law of the land. She’s not the queen of the universe. She doesn’t get to dictate your worth. You’re the queen. Crown firmly on head. Cape flowing. Very dramatic entrance music.”
“Brie, please.” Julia’s laughing again, but it sounds a little steadier.
I grin, even though she can’t see it. “You know I’m right. And step three, well, step three is optional, but I recommend it.”
“What’s step three?”
