None of this matters. She knows why I want to talk to her. It’s definitely not to go ’round and ’round over who belongs here. We have bigger things to discuss.
Like why I haven’t heard from her for the last nineteen years or so.
“Why did you do it?” I ask, cutting right to the chase.
“Do what?” She blinks at me. Either she knows how to play dumb really well, or she’s being purposely obtuse.
“Why did you abandon me? Why did you abandon my father?” I take a step closer, vaguely surprised that we’re the same height. Though I guess I shouldn’t be. I’m reminded that we do have some things in common, now that I’m standing so close to her. We have similarly colored eyes and hair, though hers is brighter, thanks to expensive highlights. Similarly shaped nose.
She’s not in her usual heels and elegant designer clothes, her hair sleek and her makeup perfect. Instead her hair is in a ponytail, and she only has on lip-gloss. She’s wearing a black velour sweat suit, like the ones that were popular about ten years ago, though what she currently has on is definitely designer. I can tell by the J zipper dangling between her breasts. Of course it’s Juicy Couture. High-end is the name of her game.
I wouldn’t expect Diane Montgomery to wear anything less.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She lifts her chin, the very picture of defiance. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things I need to do.”
Diane tries to push past me but I grab her arm, my fingers clamping tight. She struggles, which only makes my hold grow stronger. “There’s no one here you need to impress,” I tell her. “You can be real with me, Mother.”
She yanks her arm out of my grip and takes a step back, her eyes wild. “Don’t ever call me that.”
“Truth hurts, right?” I wondered why Rhett didn’t react to me saying my last name, and I just found out it’s because Diane was using her maiden name when she first met Parker. Makes me wonder if I needed to change my name at all. Was that a waste of time? Was it a waste of time to try and get to her through Rhett?
Definitely not. Never in a million years did I think I’d fall in love with him, or that he would fall in love with me.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Diane says as she starts to make her way toward the staircase. “I don’t have a daughter.”
Her words enrage me, despite telling myself none of this matters. It does. It still hurts, what she did to me, and to my father.
I follow after her, our feet pounding as I chase her up the stairs. “Was it really that easy? To just forget about me and pretend I didn’t exist? Because I never forgot about you. And trust me, I tried so hard.”
At the top of the stairs she turns to face me, her expression one of pure fury. “I wouldn’t have been a good mother to you.”
I’m taken aback by her words. Her subtle acknowledgement of me seems to fly right over my head. All I can focus on is what she just said. “What do you mean?”
“Your father was always criticizing me. Saying I didn’t love him enough, I didn’t love you enough. I would give and give and all he did was take and take. Same with you. Every day it was the same thing, over and over again. I didn’t have a life. I had you and your father to take care of, and at the end of the day, there was nothing left for me. I always felt so drained and scared,” Diane explains.
“Scared?” I ask incredulously. “Scared of what?”
“Of my life! I knew if I stayed there, I wouldn’t amount to anything. Your father had no aspirations, no goals, no focus. He didn’t want to better himself for his family. He liked his life just the way it was.”
And my mother didn’t. That much is clear.
“I knew I was trapped, but I had no one to turn to,” she continues. “Your father isolated me. I had no other family. No friends. Just you and him, and that wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough. One night we got into a huge fight, and I couldn’t take it anymore. So I did what I thought was best.”
“You thought it was best to leave me behind?” My voice is shaking and I clear my throat, frustrated by my weak show of emotion. For once, I wish I were as callous and hard as my mother.
“I left your father. If I stayed there, he would’ve ruined me. I couldn’t take the risk.” She sniffs, like she’s emotional or something, though I see no trace of tears anywhere. “You were just collateral damage.”
Her casual statement should hurt enough to draw blood. But it’s like her words trigger a realization deep within me. One I should’ve had a long time ago, but was too blinded by hate and vengeance to see it.
I don’t matter.
I never mattered.
At least to her.
“Collateral damage,” I repeat tonelessly.
She nods, her expression downright hopeful. “And look at you now. You’ve found Rhett.