“I saw your credit card statement. Looks like you were in Colorado this weekend,” she says casually.
Busted.
“Yeah, I was on break from school and figured I’d sneak in some skiing,” I tell her, keeping my voice light.
“Mmhmm. So, dodging time with your mother, I see.”
Classic.
I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see it. She’s got this way of layering guilt into everything, like it’s her own special seasoning.
“It’s not that, Mom. I just know you’ve been swamped with work,” I reply, trying to stay neutral.
“Yes, but I still miss my daughter... even if she doesn’t miss me,” she adds with a dramatic sigh.
There it is. The guilt trip.
She always plays this game—twisting things, making me feel like the bad guy, even though she’s the one who vanished after the divorce. Missed runway shows. Missed volleyball games. Missed my entire high school graduation just because she didn’t want to chance running into my dad. Yet according to her,I’mthe one who’s distant.
Work was always more important to her than me.
“I do miss you, Mom. Don’t say that,” I say quietly, even though it feels more like damage control than truth.
“Well, good! I’m glad to hear that, because I just bought you a ticket to come visit me over winter break.”
And there it is. The trap.
“Great. Sounds nice,” I lie through gritted teeth. “I’ve gotta get ready for chemistry, but I’ll talk to you later,” I lie again.
“Alright then, I wouldn’t want my daughter, the future doctor, to be late. Everything you learn in class is so important. Have fun!”
“K, thanks. Bye!”
I end the call before she can say anything else, toss my phone onto the bed, and drop onto the edge beside it.
God.
Seeing her is the last thing I want to do over break.
She does this every time—tries to buy closeness like it’ll erase the years she wasn’t there. Shopping trips, fancy dinners, introductions to her surgeon friends—like each encounter might spark some buried desire in me to follow in her footsteps, just like my brothers did.
But I’m not her. I never will be.
And no amount of vacations or guilt-soaked phone calls can make up for the way she ghosted me when I needed her the most. My brothers practically raised me in those last couple years of high school. They’re the ones who showed up. Who actually saw me.
And for that, I’ll spend the rest of my life being grateful.
They gave me the kind of love that didn’t need to be bought.
***
Somehow I made it through the whole day without going crazy. It’s funny how now all I look forward to is talking to Aspen, but I’m not surprised. I have nothing else going on in my life at the moment, and the little bit of time I spent with him meant more to me than I’d care to admit.
It’s when my phone rings for the second time today the butterflies in my stomach flutter. Unlike earlier, when my mom called and my stomach sank. I pick up after the third ring to play it cool.
“Hello?” I say into the phone.
“Hey Genevieve, how are you?” He asks.
