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Twelve
Sage
I stirmy second cup of coffee, adding in what seems like an entire bag of sugar. I need something sweet to get me through this conversation. Seven in the morning is way, way too early to be dealing with this.
“Uh huh,” I mumble after counting to ten as Mom continues rambling about the new sheets she ordered and some boat her and Dad were on yesterday and Tahiti and meeting the Queen of England.
Okay, so the last part I may have ad-libbed. But you get the picture.
“Darling, are you even paying attention? I swear, you’re so obsessed with that little business venture of yours, you can’t even listen anymore.”
The little business venture she’s referring to is Evermore. The business I single-handedly built from the ground up without a single ounce of help from my parents—which explains the constant resentment.
“Well, Mom, I am busy with Evermore. You know that.”
“Your father and I still think it’s time to sell that thing before it wears you down. Sell on the up, you know that.”
“And you know it’s my passion. I’m not selling.”
“Oh, darling. You proved your point. You made it. Now quit being so childish.”
I roll my eyes. Again, it’s too early to deal with my mother. So I suck it up and ignore her, trying to change the subject.
“So when are you two going away?”
“Next week. Want to come?”
“Can’t.” And it’s true. The new line coming up has me busy. But even if I weren’t, in truth, I wouldn’t be joining Cathy and Alexander Everling anytime soon. That ship has sailed long, long ago. As in at the age of fourteen.
“You know, it saddens me how detached from this family you are, Sage. You’re our only daughter, but it’s like you don’t exist.”
“Your words, not mine,” I reply, feeling the insolent teenager within rise up.
“You could make some effort, you know.”
“Goes both ways, Mom,” I reply, shaking my head.
“What did we ever do so wrong, Sage? We gave you everything.”
I take a deep breath. She’s right. They did give me everything money could buy… and that was about all they gave. But I shove down the childhood problems that come surging back every single time I speak to my mother… which isn’t all that often for that very reason. I tell myself it doesn’t matter. I made something of myself without them. I stood on my own two feet, and I’m still standing. I am independent, and I’m happy. I don’t need their approval, their love, their time. I don’t need to be sucked into their world of lavish vacations and showy flashings of money. I’m perfectly content with my life the way it is. Sure, I’m not scraping for money, either, and I can appreciate the finer things in life. But I’ve worked for it. It wasn’t handed to me, not like Dad.
“I’m happy, Mom. Thanks for asking.”
“Well, it saddens me that you’ve walked away from the family. We used to be so close.”
The blood starts to boil. I remind myself she’s hundreds of miles away, that her words don’t matter. But the stubborn, sassy woman within rises up before I can quiet her.
“Really, Mom? And it’s my fault that we’re not? How about you talk to your husband who has been openly having an affair for fourteen years while you sat by and pretended it didn’t matter? Why don’t you talk to him about patching back together the façade of the family you two tried to cover with money?”
“Sage….”
But it’s too late. There’s nothing more to say. I click the phone off, slamming it on the counter. I take a few deep breaths, reminding myself it’s irrelevant. I’m not them. I’m different. I’ll always be thankful for the upbringing I had. It made me who I am.
A confident businesswoman determined to make a go at it for herself.
A woman who is smart with money but can appreciate it isn’t everything.
A woman who isn’t going to let the pretense of love own her like it did my mother.
