Page 128 of Wildflower
“Mum,” I say, standing up so I can look down at her for once. “I’m proud of my style. You pushed me so hard when I graduated, so hard to fit into this mould that you had decided for me. I lost the joy in creating things for years. I couldn’t draw a single line because you broke that in me. You broke me.”
“Why are you saying this?”
“Because you need to know. I always just wanted you to love me for me, and I kept trying to be this version that you wanted me to be, hoping you’d see me. Hoping you’d look at me with the pride you have for Xander. But you never do, and it doesn’t matter what I do. So if I’m going to fail at beingyour daughter, I might as well fail while doing something I love.”
She furrows her brow at me. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“I guess I don’t?”
She stands up, her eyes stormy, and I take a step back.
“I was like you once. Directionless, flighty.” Her voice is low and serious.
“Alright, good start…” I mutter, feeling the knife twisting in my chest.
“My mother did what she did to help me. She pushed me to become a better version of myself. Like I’ve been trying with you.”
“You pushed me to be someone that doesn’t even resemble me, Mum. Not a different version.”
She shrugs. “My mothersavedme, and I found love in your father and this life. Do you know how hard it was to grow up with no money? No respect? No, you don’t, because I put that behind me. I did what my mother taught me to do: I adapted.” She glares at me. “And you waste your chance at this by being so—so foolish.”
“Waste what? To be a middle-class bitter woman without a personality like you? You want me to be miserable?”
“For God’s sake, Rosemary!” she shouts, and I recoil. Tears form in her eyes and she presses her lips together in a thin line. “Your absolute ignorance and selfishness, your complete lack of decency, will make my life harder.” She waves her arms. “You may have just torn apart what I’ve worked for, dragging our name through the mud like that. Your personal life and private parts all over the internet.”
All I can do is gape at her.
She’s right. I’ve not considered anyone else. All I worried about was what my family would think of me, not what anyone else would think of them. But if she’d only hear me out, maybe she could fight with me instead of againstme.
“How am I going to explain this to people?” she continues, her voice growing smaller, being pressed out from a tight throat. “You know what it looks like, right?”
The dirty grin of the man at Millefleuré makes an unwelcome appearance in my mind. This is what I was worried about.
Oh, Mark, what are you dealing with right now if this is what they’re saying online?
“It doesn’t matter what it looks like, we’re in a relationship,” I say, sounding more confident than I feel.
“Oh, please.”
“Mum, it’s true, just?—”
She waves a hand, cutting me off. “I’ve worked my entire adult life to be looked at with some measure of respect and not a working class, uneducated dud. I’m a good banker’s wife, on the Mile End community board, I do my paralegal job well, and I can at least say I’ve raisedonechild who adds value to the world.”
I gasp. “Mum…”
Her eyes flash with something that could resemble regret, but she doesn’t take it back. She lets the worst words I’ve ever heard about myself hang in the air like the poison they feel like.
Xander steps forward again. “Mum, you don’t mean that.” He looks at me, as if he’s checking how I’ll react, and I hold his gaze. His eyes are the only place I can find the support I need to stay standing. I’m not sure how to feel. My own mother doesn’t think I have value? What am I supposed to do with that?
“She’s ruined everything.” Mum’s voice cracks, and she drops her face into her hands. Xander and I look at each other. Who is this sad woman? I know nothing about her. Have I really ruined it for her?
“Mum…” I say, not sure whether I want to scream at her orbeg her for forgiveness. But I’m so tired of her judgement. And whatever judgement her shitty friends have of her for being my mother.
I stand in front of her and square my shoulders. Ready to say what I’ve wanted to say for years. Words I’ve played over and over in my head. A part of me knew she’d find out about the atmosphere modelling somehow.
“I’m not going to stand for this bullshit.”
She looks up at me, knitting her brow.
