The momentI enter my apartment I freeze, sensing that someone is already here. When I’m the only one with access.
I pull my phone out of my bag, ready to dial the security desk in the lobby when my mother breezes out of the kitchen, humming a familiar tune. Like she belongs there. As if I gave her a key and told her she could stop by anytime she wanted.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is cold. Devoid of any emotion, though inside I’m trembling.
Her eyes widen with seeming surprise, and she rests her hand against her chest, her red-lacquered lips parting. “You startled me.”
“This is my apartment,” I stress. “How did you get inside?”
“I told the doorman I was your mother. He let me right in.”
Of course, he did. To the outside world, Sylvia Lancaster is harmless.
“I want you to leave.” I turn my back on her and march over to the door, flipping the locks and opening it, pointing my finger at the open doorway. “Get out.”
Her hand drops to her side, an amused curve to her lips. “Always so hostile toward me, Sylvie. I don’t understand it.”
I clench my fists at my sides, wishing I could smash her face in. Her blatant denial is infuriating. “You’re gaslighting me.”
She waves a hand, dismissing my accusation. “You young people and your terminology. Do you even understand what gaslighting means?”
“No, but here you go, gaslighting me again. As if I don’t know what I’m talking about.” I lift my chin, my hands still clenched. Armed and ready to fight. “This is my property, and you’re not allowed on it. I’m asking you nicely to leave. If you don’t, I’ll call security.”
“Security allowed me in. I had a personal escort and everything.” She tilts her head to the side, contemplating me. “You’re visibly shaking, Sylvie. Are you feeling all right?”
A roar leaves me unlike any sound I’ve ever made before. “Why are you like this?”
“I just want to talk.” Her voice softens, full of concern. “Please. It’s been so long. I don’t like how you shut me out.”
“I did it for my own protection.”
“From me? What did I ever do to you?”
“You know.” My voice drips with agony, making her frown. “You know exactly what you’ve done even though you pretend it never happened. I can’t go on living like this, Mother. I just—I can’t.”
“Darling.” She takes a step toward me, and I automatically shift back, needing the distance. “I’m concerned when you talk like that. Please tell me you’re not contemplating suicide again.”
This feels so familiar, it’s downright eerie. We’ve already had this conversation. She’s said these sorts of things to me before. Planting seeds and making me believe that I’m the one who wants to end my life.
Realizing that trying to get her to leave isn’t going to work, I slam the door shut and wave a hand toward the couches in my living room. “You want to talk? Let’s talk.”
I settle onto the pristine white couch, keeping an eye on her as she sits on the pale blue chair directly across from me, resting her clutched hands in her lap. Her expression is pleasant, her eyebrows raised. As if she’s waiting for me to tear into her while she sits like an angel, calm and reserved.
It’s such a load of shit.
“I want to reestablish our relationship, Sylvie,” she says, launching right into it. “I miss you. Seeing you at the wedding reminded me of how distant we’ve truly become, and it…hurts. We used to be so close, until you shut me completely out of your life.”
The hypocrisy is real in this woman, I swear.
We stare at each other, each of us willing the other to break first, and like usual, I’m the one to do it.
“We can’t have a relationship anymore, Mother. I just—you scare me,” I admit, wanting her to think I’m feeling vulnerable.
Inside me, anger bubbles, hot and thick. She doesn’t scare me. Not really. I just want her to think I’m weak.
“I would never hurt you. You know that, right?” She slides to the edge of her seat, poised and ready to bolt toward me if need be.
“You already have.” I lift my chin, staring down my nose at her, taking in her features, which are so similar to mine. We look a lot alike, my mother and me. We basically share the same name. She’d hoped we’d be similar in every single way, and we’re just not. She forgets that Lancaster blood flows through my veins, and it dominates. “Let’s get it out in the open and talk about what you really did. How you took me to all of those doctors and convinced them I was sick, when I really wasn’t. What exactly did you do to me, hmm? Poison me? Put me on so much medication I could barely function? Is that what happened? I can’t remember. Things from my past are blurry, and I know why. It’s all your fault.”