“Listen. The truth is you have to trust yourself. That’s the only way to fight through. Tell yourself that you deserve to be there and the rest will work out. Even when the voice in your head tells you otherwise, just tell it to fuck off.”
“I guess. I just feel like I don’t deserve it though. Maybe I’m just wishing for things that can’t happen.” I carefully spoke the next words, “You always said I was flighty and had my head in the clouds.”
“And if you ask anyone who works for me, I’m a career-obsessed frigid bitch. So?” She snorted. “Nobody’s perfect. And honestly who defines the parameters for perfection anyway? Men? Pfft. What do they know?” She cackled at her own joke. “No, love, if I did say that, that you have your head in the clouds, I only meant that dreams just don’t magically come true and that you have to be willing to put in the work for it.”
“Oh.”
“But listen, Ienvythat about you,” she said. “Your creativity, your fanciful mind. That’s what makes you so good at being a writer.”
“You envy that?”
“Hell yes, I’m so technical. I see things very black and white. On or off. You are on another level. I’m proud of you.”
I couldn’t help the cough that escaped me. “You are?” I hated how young and insecure I sounded. I was standing in front of that painting again, waiting to be called a fool.
There was a beat of silence. “Kate, are you serious? Of course, I’m tremendously proud of you.” She sighed. “Shit, I’m terrible at this stuff. You were invited to an international television program to talk about your writing. You obviously have made an impact on peoples’ lives, far more than I ever have. People typically run when they see me coming. At least you bring joy and distraction from a shit world. And they obviously loved you. My intern showed me you were trending a few weeks back. You did that. Don’t sell yourself short.”
I sniffed, not quite able to find my voice.
“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you were a disappointment to me. That’s simply not true,” she added, her voice rough but still holding it together. Not like me. My chin trembled with the effort not to cry.
“Thanks, Mom.” I let out a long slow breath.
“But listen, Kate, I’m proud of you. I always will be. But more importantly you should be proud of you. If writing is what makes you feel like you’re contributing, if it fulfills you, then do it and fuck the rest. And don’t give any shits about my opinion. I’m just another idiot trying to figure it all out.”
“Good to know there’s no age where we figure it all out. But thanks, Mom. For saying you’re proud. I know it’s not what I should care about but I do.”
“Oh, honey.” She made a soft sound. “The irony is that I was never made to feel good enough by your grandparents. They wanted a husband and babies for me. I guess there’s no way of escaping our parents’ expectations even if we try so hard not to. I’m so sorry I ever made you feel not enough. I’m clearly very bad at many things.” Quickly she added, “Just don’t tell anyone else that.”
I laughed.
She sighed again. “What do I know? The older I get, the less I understand. I mean that in the best way. If writing brings you joy, then do that. What else is there? I’m a person who likes fixing broken businesses and scaring people. That’s my joy.”
“Someone has to enjoy it,” I teased. A tension I didn’t even know I was carrying melted out of me.
“I have never been good at interpersonal relationships. For you, I will try and I will be better. I won’t come at you like I would a failing business. God, even saying that makes me realize how fucked up I’ve been. I’m so sorry, love. I love you just as you are. Find what brings you happy and just do that. What else is there, really? It’s all gonna be over before we know it.”
Charlie. And writing. It wasn’t much. It’s what brought me joy.
“Thanks, Mom. So you’ll be watching the show when it airs?”
“My intern already put it on the calendar.”
44
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Hello, from a reader
Hello Miss Dubois,
My name is Charlie Downing. Yes, like the actor. Because I am him. It’s likely impossible to believe, but I am going to be upfront about that right now to avoid any confusion.
I’m writing to let you know I’ve read your stories, even though I’m terrified to admit it because it makes me sound like a nutter. I think you are brilliant. I can’t stop thinking about you.
You have changed my life.
