I knew that comment smacked her across the face. She physically stumbled away from me. Tears streamed down her cheeks and it killed me to hurt her. But at the same time, I had a right to express how she’d made me feel. How much she had abandoned me over the years. How very unlike my own mother she had become the further she slipped into this mania of hers. I shifted my bag into my other hand, giving her the silence she needed to dry her tears. I felt my heart breaking. But, at the same time, she needed to hear it.
Maybe if she finally heard the truth, she’d stick with this new path she had carved out for herself.
“You really believe that little of me?”
I snickered. “Mom, I don’t want to fight tonight.”
She scoffed. “I’m not fighting. I’m asking a question I want an honest answer to.”
“I don’t think you’re little. I think you’re lost.”
“I’m not lost, Rae. I was hurt. And I never recovered from that.”
“And you lost who you were in the process. Don’t you lie to me.”
She looked at me pointedly. “I’m not lying. And don’t you dare take that tone with me. No matter how you view me, I’m still your mother.”
“And no matter what you choose to do with your life, I’m still the daughter you’ve neglected in the process.”
“How have I neglected you, huh? Tell me. You’ve got a roof over your head. Food in your belly. Clothes in your drawers. Tell me how you’ve been neglected.”
I shook my head. “I need to go study.”
“Oh, no you don’t. You wanted this fight, we’re going to have it.”
I spun around. “I didn’t want any fight, okay?”
Mom stood in front of me as I slowly backed up the steps.
“I didn't want to fight with you! I just didn’t want to lie to you! But, that’s what I get when I tell you the truth because you don’t like it. You don’t like your truth. Which is why you need therapy. And I’m proud of you. I really am. But you broke my trust a long time ago when you continuously let an abusive man into this home where I live without asking me how I felt about it once. You broke my trust the second you started relying on that man for money and then preaching to me about how I had to stand on my own two feet and rely on myself. You broke my trust the second you tried to mold me into the kind of girl I am today while denying yourself that same strength because the world out there is too scary and too hard and too judgmental. Well, you know what, Mom? It’s going to take more than a week for that trust to come back. So take it or leave it. Because that’s all I’ve got for you.”
“You don’t believe a word coming out of my mouth, do you?”
I turned my back. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
I started up the steps, leaving my crying mother to wallow in her own self-pity. On the one hand, I felt like an utter bitch. And on the other hand, I felt relieved. Now that the truth was out there and she knew exactly how I felt, I didn’t feel like a stranger in my own home. Yes, it was a harsh truth. But, speaking my truth helped me to breathe a little easier.
Even at the expense of my mother’s tears.
Hearing her cry downstairs broke my heart. But I didn't let it deter me. I closed my bedroom door behind me and hung my new dress up in my closet. I tossed my purse onto my bed, went into my closet and pulled out my backpack. And as I started pulling my books out, exhaustion washed over me.
I had no more pity to give out to anyone.
I tossed my books onto my bed. But staring at them made me tired. The test wasn’t until Wednesday. I could study in the morning. I turned my eyes back toward my closet. They fell to the luggage at the bottom. And one by one, I pulled them out and dumped everything onto the bed.
I picked out the few things I figured Allison might enjoy. I set aside the sunglasses for Michael. Then I picked out one specific piece of jewelry I wanted to give Mom for her birthday. It had her name written all over it. Big. Beautiful. Loud. Just like her. I sighed as I set it off to the side. Her birthday was next month. I would wrap it up and give it to her. Something nice she could be proud of. A piece of real jewelry, instead of that fake shit D.J. always bought her. I wanted her to have something to remind her of what she deserved. To remind her of the beauty this world had to offer if she simply strived for it.
And after picking out a few more things for myself, I started taking pictures.
I wanted to post everything else online for sale. Because it made me nervous to have all this expensive stuff at the bottom of my closet. I had to look up the pieces of clothing in order to estimate how much to sell it for. And the prices boggled my mind. A few of the less expensive things I set off to the side. I slipped the items into the smallest luggage case I had as a back-up reserve of money. The big things, though, I posted immediately. The more expensive the item, the more nervous it made me.
The more I heard my mother cry, the more I wondered if she could stick with this. I kept posting pictures and getting hits on them. People who were interested. Who were asking for verification of the jewels and diamonds. I worked to answer their questions as more pictures uploaded. Because in the end, I needed a fall-back plan. If Mom fell through with all this—if Mom took him back—I needed enough money for an exit plan. Enough money to run my own life and completely disconnect myself with her. Because I meant what I said.
If he came back, I was gone.
And I needed to be ready for the worst.
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