Page 54 of Denial

My phone rings and I absolutely hate the way my eyes cut to it, hoping it says either of their names, even if I have no intention of picking up a call from them. It says my mother's name instead, though.

"Of course. It's Sunday," I mumble to myself.

I'd forgotten. I put my phone back down, but then I remember the last time I missed our call. She'd called a few more times, texted even, and when I hadn't responded, she'd driven three hours to make sure I was okay. I don't want to do that to her again, nor do I want her showing up. So, I pick up the phone again, clearing my throat as I swipe the screen, but I can still hear the croak in my voice when I greet her.

"Hey, Mom."

She doesn't notice I've been crying at all, because she's crying herself.

"Oh, Lexa. He left me," she sobs.

I have heard this same sound, these same words, so many times in my life. Have seen the tears run down her cheeks. Have seen her beside herself that yet another great love had ended. I don't have the energy, nor the patience, for it today, but still, I close my eyes, preparing to utter the words I have each and every time before.

"What happened?"

"He said I was too clingy, needed too much of his attention and time. Me,clingy, Lexa."

I sigh low enough for her not to hear me. She can be clingy, but I've also always felt it was because she was desperately trying to hang on to the wrong men.

"I told him I could change, demand less of him but he—"

"Why should you, Mom?" I cut her off.

"Wh-what?" she croaks.

"Why should you have to change? Why should you have to shrink yourself down to be what he needs? Why can't he be the one to give you more, instead? Why do you always change yourself for them, but never expect them to change for you?"

There's silence for a moment, and I know it's probably partly due to her shock at me speaking that way to her. I've always just consoled, and told her part of the truth, that they didn't deserve her in the first place. But I don't have that in me today. To soothe her pain, pacify her that someone new will come along who will treat her better. I'm angry. I'm hurt. I'm disappointed. And unfortunately, it’s coming out in my conversation with her.

"You know how it is when you're in love," she says. "You do whatever you need to keep it."

"Then, why do they never do everything they need to do to keep you?" I ignore her sharp gasp to continue. "You give and you give, and for what? For them to give up on you in the end, tell you you're too much, too this and too that. For you to beg them to stay, and they leave in the end, anyway? When are you going to stop and realize that they are not the loves of your life? They are not anything more than the next man you'll try to make yourself good enough for."

"How can you speak to me this way?" she hoarsely asks. "All I have ever done is show you what love could be, should be."

"Should be?" I give a haughty chuckle. "All you've ever done is make me terrified of loving someone and ending up like you. Desperate for them to love me back, and hollow when it becomes evident that they don't."

"I have shown you that love requires you give it all you have. I gave my all again and again, as you have pointed out, and you know what, I have no regrets in the end. I gave them everything I had, and if they weren't smart enough, genuine enough, to realize that, to appreciate that, then it's their loss."

“But don't you see that in giving them your all, you've lost who you are? What do you like, Mom? What is your favorite food, favorite show, favorite...anything? You don't know because you're waiting around for the next man to tell you who you are and what you like. How do you think that felt for me growing up, watching this woman I knew was my mother but feeling like I never knew who she really was, because she didn't even know anything about herself except what her man of the month wanted from her. Because she was constantly changing, not evolving, but changing, Mom. Taking on a whole new personality because it's what best suited some man she barely even knew. You think you were showing me that love requires all when you should have been teaching me that love doesn't need you to change, but will only make you better."

"Should I have given up on love and shown you that it was better to be alone and miserable?"

"Because love makes you so happy? Are you not in whatever version of love you think you have and crying right now? Did I think I'd found love and now I'm sitting here with a broken heart, too?"

"What?" she breathes out.

My eyes widen and I curse. "Nothing. Forget I said anything."

"You love someone?"

"Forget it, Mom," I say through clenched teeth.

"Lexa." She releases a deep breath. "Maybe...maybe I didn't always show you the right thing. Maybe I need to look back and ask myself a lot of questions. But one thing I will not regret, nor question, is that I know I did show you that love is real." I scoff but she continues. "I have loved. I may not have been loved back in the way I wanted or in the way I should have been, but I have loved. I have opened my heart and felt what it is like to let someone in. I know love is real, and as much as you have told me time and again that you don't believe the same, clearly you know you were wrong now. The fact that your heart is broken at all proves as much."

"It only proves I made a mistake. It proves that I should have listened to my mind and kept my heart firmly behind all the walls I built around it, because look at what's happened now. It proves I loved and now I'm losing that small part of myself I swore I never would. I will never get this piece of my heart back now. It's too shattered."

"Do you want it back, though?" she quietly asks. "Do you truly regret that you loved, or are you so hurt that anger is the only way you know how to react to it all? If that man came back to you right now and groveled and begged, could he not repair whatever damage he's done?"

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