“But you don’t respect me.” My mother drew a shaky breath, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye.
“I love you, Mom,” I said carefully. “And I have respect for you.”
She gave a wry laugh. “That sounds like conditional respect.”
Nick was right. I’d spent years avoiding conflict with my mother. But somehow I knew that if I didn’t stand up to her here and now, I wouldn’t be able to move on with my life or win Nick’s heart.
I drew a deep, fortifying breath for the hard conversation ahead of me. “Respect isn’t a blanket that covers all things. I respect how hard you worked and how dedicated you were in your sport when you were younger. You set a good example for me.” And probably for Tim, too.
“I knew it. You think I pushed you too hard.” A tear spilled down my mother’s cheek.
I wiped it away. “I didn’t say that. You made my dreams possible. I have the utmost respect for that.” I wasn’t sure what else to say without hurting her feelings any further.
Mom choked on what sounded like a sob. “I want to be more than the woman who almost made it to the Olympic team. I want to be more than the wife of Lee Jameson, who owns December Dry Cleaners. I want to be more than the mother of Allison Jameson, dancer on Broadway. I want to be someone people respect for who I am today. I’m smart and capable and…” Her words petered out, punctuated by another choking sob.
“And you’re in over your head because you’ve started something for all the wrong reasons.” It was so clear to me now.
Mom’s features scrunched and I could practically taste the denial in the air between us before she ever uttered another word. “No matter why I started the store, it’s given me some of the self-validation I needed, from the town and my vendors.”
“Mom – ”
“I can’t send back anything I bought.” Her voice rose. “What are my vendors going to think of me if I ask them to take orders back?”
“That you’re smarter than they gave you credit for.” I rubbed her arms, trying to make her see reason. “Why does their opinion matter? What should matter is how you feel when you’re inside your boutique. You should feel a sense of pride. You should want to buy one of everything inside because you only stock merchandise you’d love and would buy yourself.” That’s what I’d want if it was my store.
She wiped her nose with her forearm. “I did do that.”
“Really?” I wasn’t going to let her get away with that statement. “You’d buy faux fur coats? Wooden clogs? Bunny T-shirts that glow in the dark?”
“I’m not saying I wouldn’t wear any of those things…” Mom hedged, gaze sweeping the floor behind me.
“Then I’ll say it.” I firmed up my tone. “You wouldn’t wear any of those things, Mom.”
My mother didn’t deny it. She bit her lip though, clearly torn. And then she pushed back her shoulders. “But they were such a good deal, Allison. And those vendors all respected me for my selections. I know they did.”
I wasn’t going to fall into the loop of her argument. I sat back on my heels. “So, what you’re saying is that you decided to open a store to garner people’s respect.” I didn’t phrase it as a question. It was a fact. But it wasn’t just her pride at stake here. It was the family bank account and the roof over her head. I couldn’t afford to be kind or gentle because she couldn’t afford for me to be kind or gentle. “Admit it, you don’t have any interest in running a store.” Again, not a question.
“You make everything I’ve done sound bad,” Mom said in a mousy voice.
It wasn’t bad. It was catastrophic! “Mom. You’ve spent thousands of dollars trying to buy the respect of people.”
“Okay. Yes.” Mom squirmed. “Salespeople. People in town, like Judith Smith. The store was supposed to be my second act.” She scrunched her nose. “Or maybe my third act, if you count working at a dry cleaning shop.”
“You’re not just a clerk here. You own the shop with Dad.” I got to my feet, consumed with worry that my mother couldn’t connect the dots between her need for respect and her attempts to buy it. “I think your store is your midlife crisis.” I offered her a hand up.
After a moment, Mom took it. “I’m not having a midlife crisis. That would be…beneath me.” She avoided my gaze though. “Haven’t you ever thought of what you’d do when your dance career is over?”
“That’s a tricky question.” And I fully intended to discuss my retirement with her when this topic was successfully wrapped up.
Mom waved my statement aside. “If you must know, I planned to fill the boutique with beautiful, fashionable things that would make people feel good – whether it was a silly bunny shirt or a soft coat to ward off the winter chill.” Mom sighed. Her words became weaker and harder to catch. “I thought it would be a place you’d like to run with me someday, a store we could both be proud of.” She laid her palm on my cheek and I was hard-pressed to recall her ever touching me so tenderly. “I thought you’d return to Christmas Mountain after having a fulfilling career. And you’d find a place to express all your metropolitan fashion sense, a place ready and waiting. A place we could both operate with pride.” Her hand dropped away.
And I…I was flabbergasted. Her idea… It wasn’t horrible.
“But I’m my own worst enemy, I suppose,” Mom went on. “I shouldn’t have assumed I could bring that vision to life. If only…” She stared at me sharply. “Ever since I left the national team, I feel as if I’ve been fighting for the respect I once had.”
“For nearly thirty years?” That would explain how uptight she’d been. But it made me feel extremely sad for her. I leaned my elbows on the counter, considering my next words carefully. “You could have asked me if I wanted to run a boutique with you.”
“We both know the answer to that,” Mom deadpanned, as if my negative response was a given. “I thought having you see the store would sway you. But I’ve botched everything. The store. My relationship with you. My marriage…” She wrapped her arms around herself.