“We both know you have your claws in him. He doesn’t pick up my phone calls like he used to, you manipulativecunt.”
A hollow laugh left me, a dry, tired smile twisting my lips. “Well, then don’t expect this to change.”
“Do you know how embarrassing it was to show up to see my granddaughter and find out I’m not on that list? That I wasreplacedby your two heathen friends? Including that bitch who’s dating those two gay men?—”
“If you say one more negative thing about the people I love, I will make sure you never see Laura again. Ever.”
She scoffed. “The people you love? You don’t love them. You don’t know what love is.”
You’re wrong. You’re so wrong?—
“You don’t know what it’s like to sacrifice everything for your children only for them to turn their backs on you.”
Without skipping a beat, I snapped. “You’re right. I don’t. But I do know what it’s like to have a mother who hates her daughter.”
“I don’t hate you. You’re just unlovable.”
But I’m not.
I pressed my fingers to my eyes. It was the same argument we’d had a thousand times over the years. The same fucking one. I was the problem, I was the failure, I was the reason everything was the way it was.
“Stay away from Laura,” I finally said. “Stay away from Ethan. Stay away from me.”
“If you don’t add me back, I’ll report him.”
“What?” Shock rattled me, my bones going cold.
“I’ll report him to CPS. That he’s hitting Laura.”
“Why would you do that? He’d never hurt her. He’d never lay a hand on anyone.”
“Add me back,” she growled.
“No,” I said firmly. “Make all the threats you want. Call CPS and do that and find out what happens when you lie.”
“Do it. Do it or else?—”
“No.” I hung up.
The temptation to throw my phone across the room was all consuming. I’d never do that, though. Growing up with a mother who threw things had left its impression, and since age five, I vowed I’d never be like her.
Instead, I stood up from my stool and went to the back of my shop. I yanked open the cooler door and stepped inside. The heavy metal slammed shut behind me.
I was shaking. I hated it. I hated it when she made me feel this way. The tears were there, hot and threatening and making me feel weak.
I was so tired of being strong. Being the eldest daughter was a fucking curse. I didn’t ask for this, didn’t ask to be at the center of her hatred, yet here I was. It was always me. Always.
I wiped away the tears and took slow, deliberate breaths.
This had to stop eventually. Right? All her vitriol would eventually shrivel up. That was the lie I told myself because it gave me hope.
One day she’d stop making me cry. One day her words wouldn’t get to me. But until then, I’d be damned if she ruined Ethan’s life. He was trying. He was trying so hard, and he was getting better, and I wouldn’t let her harm him.
Always the protector. Always the sacrificial lamb. It was my role in our family and at this point, I’d accepted it. I wore her hatred and disappointment like a red cloak.
Just as long as it kept her from hurting my brother and niece.
She’d never been physically violent. At least, not directly. She’d maybe punch a hole in a wall or scream or shout, but growing up, I’d always been able to digest those outbursts easier than the quiet, leeching comments. The disappointment in my appearance, in my choices, in my hair, in my clothes, in my tattoos, in my piercings, in my sexuality, inme.
