Basically, a big pain in the ass.
That’s what I am.
That’s why I don’t have siblings. But is that why…?
“Mom, please tell me you didn’t start sleeping with Mario because of me.”
“Of course not! That’s between your father and me.”
“But I was one of the things you disagreed on.”
“Trust me, there were others.”
“What was the catalyst, then? Why did you do it?”
She sighs. “I’m not sure I even remember anymore.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
She shakes her head, chuckling softly. “You continue to fight me. Always.”
I dig in my heels. Literally, as I sit in the garden, my heels sink into the soft dirt. “This is important to me. I’ve already told you I’m trying to figure some stuff out about myself, and this seems to be part of the key.”
“It had nothing to do with you,” she says, “and everything to do with me. Mario made me feel…beautiful, I guess.”
“You were always beautiful, Mom.”
“I didn’t think so. Being a farm wife isn’t easy. It’s a lot of hard work. I never had any time for myself. You were… I loved you so much, Skye, but you were…”
“Rebellious. I know.”
“Yes. It was tiring, always fighting for everything with you. Your father was in the fields twelve hours a day, and he came home exhausted. That’s not his fault, of course, but he was too tired to talk to me, let alone… You know…”
Yeah, I know. Have sex, make love—whatever euphemism you want to call it. The idea of my parents doing that kind of nauseates me, but less so than the idea of my mother with some young stud named Mario.
“Did you always love him?” I ask. “Dad, I mean.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Then why…?”
“Because I’m human, honey. Simply human, and I needed some intimacy. Mario offered it, and I accepted. I shouldn’t have, but I did.”
I shake my head. “Why didn’t you control yourself?”
She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She doesn’t have an answer.
Just like I, the self-professed queen of control, have no answer as to why I want the neck binding with Braden.
I just want it.
But he doesn’t.
Maybe if he told me why, I’d understand.
But he’s right. Knowing his why won’t bring me any closer to my own.
Finally, my mother speaks. “I should have resisted. I should have controlled myself. I have no reason except that I wanted it, and I gave in.”
“So you admit you were weak.”
“Yes, Skye. I’m not you. I’m not strong like you and your father are. I gave in.”
“That’s an excuse.”
She sighs. “Perhaps it is. I had a chance to take something I wanted, and I took it.”
“Did you give a thought to Dad? To me?”
“Of course I did.”
“But we lost, and you won out.”
She lowers her head and fixes her gaze on the soil in front of her. “There’s no use arguing about it. You’re right.”
“I feel no satisfaction in being right, Mom.”
“Honey, this is why I resisted telling you everything. Dad and I worked through it. We’re good now. In fact, we’re better than we were before Mario. And we both love you so much, Skye. We always have.”
Yes, they have.
Despite the fact that my mother apparently found me difficult—finds me difficult—there was never a time when I felt she didn’t love me.
I don’t feel that now, either. I know she loves me.
Still, I need one more answer.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Mom,” I begin, “why were you in bed with Mario while I was in the house?”
“That was unfortunate,” she says with a sigh. “You were supposed to be at your friend Myrna’s house, but her little brother developed a high fever, so Myrna’s mom dropped you back home on her way to the doctor. She called, but I didn’t hear the phone.”
“Who let me in the house?”
“The door was unlocked. You were seven. You let yourself in.”
Myrna. I haven’t given her a thought in years. She and her family lived on a neighboring farm, but they sold out and moved when we were in fifth grade.
Right. I remember now. I opened the door and walked in the house. I yelled for Mom, but she didn’t answer. Then I heard sounds coming from her bedroom.
So I opened the door, and—
Funny how clear it is now. How did I forget? The concussion may have had something to do with it, but I remembered the praying mantis. I remembered getting lost in the cornfield. The china plate…
I never saw Mario again after that, so it was most likely easy for my seven-year-old mind to block out such an unpleasant memory.
And of course Mom didn’t hear the phone. She was… God. My instinct is to fight her on that as well. What was she thinking, not hearing the phone?
But it’s seventeen years in the past.
Perhaps I need to let it go. Perhaps…
Perhaps I need to choose my battles.
I don’t need to fight everything.