I'm about six feet ahead of her on the trail now. I turn around and she's wiping at her face. I can't tell if she's crying or sweating. "You're not looking at it in the right light."
"I'd love to see this differently. I'd love to know my mother didn't humiliate me in front of the entire internet on purpose."
"Your numbers were already dropping, Indie. Even before the photo." She wipes at her eyes again. It's not sweat, but I also know my mother is capable of crying on command. "I had to do something. Bringing in Miles helped,” this admission twists the knife in my back, “but it wasn't enough. We needed drama, and you're usually so even keel. I knew it would work, and it did. Maybe a little too well. I'm sorry for what it put you through. Truly." She sniffs and wipes at her dry eyes.
This is all too much, and I'm finally done. We reach a fork in the trail that leads to an overlook, and I turn that direction. There’s a small fence marking the end of the trail, but the beginning of an incredible view of rocky cliffs and the ocean. This is a fitting place toend my working relationship with my mother. I stop, propping my elbows on the rough wood.
The sweeping view would be inspiring if my mind wasn't a swirling inferno of rage. I'll have no problem saying what needs to be said now. The trick will be saying it without destroying any shreds of our relationship that remain after her betrayal.
I pull in a few deep breaths of ocean air while I wait for my mother to catch up. She leans on the fence next to me and the scent of her luxury hair products mixes with the salty breeze.
"This is nice." Her breathing is heavy. "You were right."
"Yep. I did a lot of this on my trip. It's kind of what I need to talk to you about next." I steel myself. I can do this. Suddenly Joe's voice is in my head:Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.
"I can't work with you anymore, Mom."
Her words are like a scorpion strike, “Of course you can. We had a hard couple of weeks. We messed up. That doesn’t mean you can quit. You can’t keep running away, Indigo.”
I made two rules for myself during this discussion with my mother: 1. I’m not going to blow up at her, and 2. I’m not backing down. It’s taking all of my willpower to stick to number one. I count to ten and backwards from ten before I say, “First of all,wedidn’t do anything.Youmessed up. So much, Mom.” I take another deep breath. “And Icanquit, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m sorry that’s hard for you to hear. I’m not running away. I’m taking control of my life, and it’s about time.”
“You’re quitting?” she spits out. “After everything I’ve done for you? You wouldn’t have a life without me! You wouldn’t exist. No one would know the name Indigo Fox. You would be no one. And this is the thanks I get.” She’s worked up tears that only serve to fuel my anger.
Rule number one, Indie. Remember rule number one.I let out a long breath. “I’m still your daughter. I still love you.” Heaven help me, Ido. I see how dysfunctional and manipulative she is. These past few weeks have opened my eyes to that. But I can’t not love my mother. I wish I could shut off our connection like flipping a lightswitch. “Why isn’t it enough for me to be your daughter?”
Her silence says everything I need to hear, and it rips open my heart. I clear my throat, blinking back the tears that are starting to blur my vision. “I’m going to find my own lawyer to help me sort through the legal stuff. I’ll have them contact you. In the meantime, I need some space. I’ll reach out to you when I’m ready, okay?” I turn to leave. I’ll never be able to hike this trail again, that’s for sure.
She sniffs behind me. “Wait.”
“Yeah?”
“I do love you, Indigo. You’re still my daughter.”
I fight to keep the sound of crying out of my voice, but tears are pouring down my face, “I hope that's true.”
Chapter 19
Ihave a hundred things to figure out, but I decide to give myself some time to sit with the sadness. I plop onto my cushy leather couch with a two liter bottle of cherry Coke and a clamshell box of sugar cookies from the grocery store. To set the mood, I turn on one of the Twilight movies and skip ahead to the part where Bella is moping over Edward leaving her. I program a timer on my phone for two hours because this pity party needs parameters. I’ll go back to kicking booty and taking names when the alarm goes off. For now, I’ll cry this out with moody movie filters and junk food. I take a swig straight from the giant two liter bottle to get things started.
I cry through the entire movie. I cry over the situation with my mother, of course. I cry because I miss Joe, because I’m unemployed and have no life plan, because I still need to get my Range Rover back from Bonnie and say goodbye to The Hulk. I cry because I have a little white scar from kicking bushes that reminds me of Joe. Then I cry again becauseI miss Joe, dangit.I add another tissue to the pile on my coffee table.
Somewhere in there, crying turns to thinking, and I start to formulate a plan. After Bella saves Edward and the credits roll, mytimer rings and I startle. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and grab a notepad from my purse. It’s booty kicking time.
I start by making a list:
One, officially say goodbye to my followers. Before I have a chance to overthink it, I post a message on Instagram with one of my old standby selfies. “Going live at 8 o'clock tonight, y’all! Don’t miss it!” There. Now I can’t chicken out. I also take this opportunity to change all of my passwords, just to be safe. Nothing else has been done in my name, as far as I can tell. But I feel relieved and empowered taking complete control of my accounts.
Two, find a job. No big deal.
Three, swap cars with Bonnie. I draw a little frowny face next to this item.
That’s a good start, right? I want to add a fourth item. I want to make things right with Joe, but I don’t know how. I need him to see that I stood up for myself, and that I would choose him if he wants me. All of this seems impossible because of how I ended things. I left him the same way Lindsie did. Without a word. There’s no way he’s going to give me a chance after all of the salt I rubbed in his wounds. I want to restart my movie and sink into a pit of Coke and cookies, but I can’t.Crying time is over, Indie.
A few hours later, after I’ve showered, scrubbed my face, and slipped into my favorite pink sundress that my mother doesn’t like, there's a soft knock at my door. It’s Ashley.
"You’re amazing for agreeing to this,” I say, throwing my arms around her and dragging her inside.
Her hug is tight and heals something inside me. “Are you kidding? I’m unemployed and pretty much living out a fantasy here.Helping free Indigo Fox? I’m on board.” She makes her way into the condo. “Should we set up in the usual spot?”
