Page 42 of All Autumn
Although I was pretty sure it was her usual dramatics, I’d never forgive myself if she actually did do something horrible because I wasn’t there when she needed me. So here I was, for like the millionth time, bringing along my shoulder for her to cry on. I was so tired of it.
“He wants a divorce.” She threw herself down on the sofa and wailed.
It was going to be one of those kind of nights. I dropped my purse on the coffee table, then headed straight to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine. How much more of my parents’ drama was I supposed to take? Some of my earliest memories were of their fights, how they’d thrown accusations at each other, the tears, the slamming of doors.
Not that I blamed my mother for my father’s affairs, but I’d once overheard him tell her that she was a cold fish. I’d decided right then and there that when I got married, my husband would never have reason to sling those words at me. That accusation had stuck in my mind when I’d showed up at Brian’s dealership wearing nothing but a raincoat. I wasn’t a cold fish, and it occurred to me that possibly my mother wasn’t either, that maybe it was my father’s way of putting the blame for his weakness back on her. The same way Brian had blamed Lina for his cheating.
Early in our relationship I’d told Brian about my father’s infidelities and how it had sucked the life out of my mother. I’d told him I would never tolerate cheating because I would never allow myself to become my mother, withering away a little each time she caught him screwing around on her. Brian had claimed to understand and had sworn he would never do that to me. I’d wanted so badly to believe him—to be in love with a man who would never treat me like that—that I’d ignored the warning signs.
Well, never again. I put my hands on the counter, taking deep breaths, seeking calm before I went back to the living room. It was getting harder and harder to deal with my parents.
“He’s said that before,” I reminded her when I returned. “Often.”
“Well, he means it this time.”
And I’d heard that before, more than once. He never followed through because usually his latest squeeze would get tired of him for this reason or that and kick him out before anything could come of it. Mom would then welcome him back with open arms.
“Let him get the damn divorce, Mom. In fact, you divorce him.” She’d never threatened to leave my dad, and I had a feeling that if she did, if he had to worry about her not sitting home, miserable without him, he’d change his ways. I think in his warped way he loved her. He just didn’t know how to keep his pants zipped.
“But I love him.” Her lips trembled as she gave me an accusing glare. “You don’t understand.”
“You think not?” Leftover anger from a year ago surged through me. Unable to sit still, I set my wineglass on the table, then stood, going to the window, and looking out into the night. “You think it didn’t kill me when I caught Brian screwing around on me? Do you know why I refused to give him another chance?” I turned, and at her blank face, I realized she’d never get it, never change. But I had to try.
“Because of you and Dad. I don’t remember a time when he wasn’t either moving out or moving back in. Frankly I think it’s pretty amazing that I’m not more screwed up than I am. But I promised myself years ago that I’d never let myself be you.”
“That’s a mean thing to say, Autumn.”
“If that’s how you see it, I’m sorry.” I moved back to the sofa, sitting close to her and taking her hand in mine. “I do remember that there was a time when you used to smile. You were happy and so pretty. I think that was probably when I was around five or six. Then as the years passed, you changed, Mom. Each time he left or you kicked him out, you got more miserable, more bitter. You stopped laughing. And this is going to sound really mean, but I’m going to say it anyway. You stopped being pretty.”
Her lips thinned, and she snatched her hand away. “I didn’t ask you to come over to tear me to pieces with cruel words. You’re my daughter. It’s your job to be here for me when I need you.”
Seriously? Long-held rage and hurt stormed to the surface—the uncertainties during my childhood, dreading coming home at the end of a school day, never knowing if my dad would be living with us or not, never sure what condition my mother would be in—and I let the words tumble out that I’d never said but had always wanted to.
“No. You have it backward. A mother’s job is to be there for her children, and you never have. It’s always been about you. Maybe that’s why Dad doesn’t stick around. Perhaps he gets just as tired as I do of all your drama.” And it was true. Even during the times he was with us, it was like living onstage in a Broadway farce. It drained the soul.
She slapped me.
“Maybe I deserved that,” I said, putting my palm on my stinging cheek, shocked that she’d hit me, something she’d never done before. What hurt more than the slap, though, was that she didn’t seem sorry she’d done it. “But honestly I don’t think I can go on like this, dropping everything no matter what’s going on in my life and running to your side when you demand it. You need to talk to someone, a professional. Will you let me look into that, find someone who can help you find your way back to being happy again?”
“I’m not crazy, Autumn, and I resent you implying that I am. If anyone needs to see a psychiatrist, it’s your father.”
“Actually, you both do. So the answer’s no? Because if it is, then I’m done with both of you.” Nothing else I’d ever said had worked, so maybe it was time for some tough love. That and I really couldn’t keep on like this with her. I was also coming to believe that I was enabling her by being the dutiful daughter, presenting myself on demand and commiserating ad nauseam with poor Melinda Archer.
“You’ve changed since Brian left you and not for the good. If this is how you’re going to be, you can leave now.”
“First, I left Brian. Second, I think going now is a good idea. If you want to put on a pretty dress, do something with your hair, and go out tomorrow for a nice mother-daughter lunch, call me. If you pick up the phone in the future to ask me to come over for more of this, please don’t. I won’t do it.”
I took my wineglass to the kitchen, washed it, put it away, then picked up my purse and walked out. She didn’t try to stop me. My heart hurt, and the love I had for my mother in it wanted to go back inside and take back everything I had said. But I made my feet keep walking. At some point I had to stop letting her control me like a puppet, and tonight seemed to be that point.
As soon as I got home, I’d call Connor, and if it wasn’t too late, maybe he’d come over, even if it was just to hold me. Beau greeted me at the door, grinning like a fool at the sight of me. “Hey, boy. Miss me?”
He barked ayes!
My phone buzzed, and I smiled. I wouldn’t have to call Connor because he was calling me. It wasn’t him, though; it was my father. I almost didn’t answer it. Dealing with one screwed-up parent in a night was enough. But he rarely called me, and I couldn’t resist the chance to talk to him.
“Hey, Dad.”
“What’s this about you upsetting your mother?”
