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“Well… I mean.” I shift on the couch. “I guess I want to tell her about my company. I want her to be happy for me. I just don’t also want her to start begging me for money all the time again.”
“Could you tell her that upfront, so that you both have the same expectations going into a conversation?”
“What, ‘Oh hi, Mom, I’m not giving you any money, but I made some finally’?” I laugh. “You can’t just say that to your parent.”
“Why not?” The therapist arches an eyebrow.
I blink, thrown. “I mean…” To be honest, I’ve never thought about being that straightforward with my mother. Or with anyone, honestly. When I was a kid, anytime I was too honest about what I really thought with Mom, it tended to get me in trouble. If I didn’t like her current boyfriend, she’d tell me I had to suck it up and learn to like him because he was paying our bills. Hell, even if she asked for my opinion on a dress she was wearing, if I didn’t say it looked amazing, she’d accuse me of thinking she was fat and I was trying to make her feel insecure.
Talking to my mother has always been like navigating a field of landmines. So, after a while, I just stopped trying to cross the field.
“I guess I just figured she’d get too upset if I said that,” I reply, after a long pause.
“It’s understandable to want to avoid a situation that would upset both of you,” my therapist replies.
“So I shouldn’t call her back,” I say.
She laughs. “I can’t tell you the right answer, Cassidy, because there isn’t one. It’s a decision you’ll need to make for yourself, whether or not you want to open that door. But either way, you should know that you have every right to set boundaries with your mother. Boundaries that make you comfortable.” She glances over her shoulder, and then leans forward in her seat. “I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for today, but I think we made progress, don’t you?”
I smile and nod. But this session has left me feeling even more confused than ever. Could she be right? Do my relationships with guys stem from how I watched my mother behave as I was growing up?
If so, maybe I should call her. Just to try to untangle these messy feelings. After all, she only lives a couple hours away now. Opening the door a little bit isn’t going to be like before. She can’t barge in and take over my life again the way she has in the past.
My brow furrows as I trudge out of the office. My stomach is already in knots, but I’ve made my decision. By the time I reach the ground floor of the elevator, I’m at peace with it. I pull out my phone and scroll until I find my mother’s name on my missed calls.
She tried again last weekend, but she didn’t bother to leave a message. It seems she’s learned by now that I don’t usually listen to them. They’re always not-so-subtle requests for money, anyway.
I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. Then I hit dial.
Mom answers on the third ring. “Cass, honey! I’ve been trying to reach you for ages,” she coos, in a tone that tells me she’s already had at least one drink today.
I check the time on my phone just to be sure, but yep, it’s barely after 2pm on a Tuesday. I wince. “Hey, Mom. Sorry I haven’t called in a while. Things have been pretty busy here.”
“I’ll say!” she exclaims. “I was calling to tell you I saw that interview you did on TV. You were amazing, honey! I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I keep my tone level, cautious. Although I’ll admit, it does feel good to hear her say that.
“And let me guess,” Her voice turns a little teasing, “you haven’t even properly celebrated yet, have you?”
“Sure I have!” I retort. But then I think about it. Have I, really? I went to the spa with Becky the one day, and promptly made myself nervous again about five seconds later. Aside from that, I’ve spent all my time working. At least, all my time that I’ve not spent in therapy or trying my best to forget about Lark. “Kind of,” I add, and on the other end of the line, my mother lets out a knowing sigh.
“Tell you what. Why don’t I come by? We can go out for a nice meal, maybe see a movie or something. My treat!”
My eyebrows shoot skyward. Whatever I’d expected to hear from my mom after that TV interview, it wasn’t this. Guilt settles heavily into my stomach. Maybe I’ve been unfair. Maybe I’m the one who’s been stuck in the past, remembering how my mother used to treat me when I was younger. Who knows, maybe she’s changing too. Turning over a new leaf, the same way that I’m trying to.
