I shifted through my closet,wondering what the hell I was supposed to wear. I was meeting Ember for drinks and was running behind.
My cell started ringing on my bed. I glanced down at my mom’s name on the screen. I loved my mom; I did, but she had terrible timing.
I stared at the phone, hoping it would disappear if I ignored it. My mother never called just to say hello. And chances were, I wasn’t going to like what she had to say.
I should have let it roll to voicemail, but I answered anyway because she would make me feel guilty if I didn’t.
“Hi, Mom.” I forced a smile even though she couldn’t see me.
“Well, look at who finally decided to answer her phone.”
Could she ever sound happy to talk to me?
I rubbed my forehead. “Sorry for not calling. It’s been crazy at work.”
Was I too busy to call her? Not really, but I always felt like an inconvenience when I did. Not that she would ever say that. My mom specialized in quiet criticism. She was subtle, and growing up with a mother who held a PhD in genetic research meant that every word, choice, and decision I made was silently analyzed.
“You’re too busy to call your mother?”
Of course, she had to make me feel guilty, but then again, I shouldn’t be surprised. This is the same woman who has spent my entire life canceling visits, rescheduling dinners, or forgetting birthdays. She was always too busy with patients, seminars, and conferences—basically, everything but me.
But I was supposed to drop everything as if I didn’t have my own life to live.
I glanced out the window. “The phone works both ways, Mom.”
“I know that, but you could try harder.”
Of course, I could. It was always me. I was the issue.
I picked up my curling iron and plugged it into the outlet. “I’m sorry for not calling. I’ve been assigned a new project at work, and it has taken up a lot of my time.”
“Becca, you’re a sports journalist. Your job is to watch football players throw a ball around. You act like you’re negotiating world peace.”
I couldn’t do this with her tonight.
“Mom.” I sighed, leaning against my dresser. “Why does it always feel like you’re embarrassed by what I do?”
Not once has she ever said she was proud of me. She didn’t have to understand my career choice, but I wished she would respect it. You would think she would be happy for me.
“I never said I was embarrassed. All I’m saying is, maybe you should focus less on chasing athletes around and more on the woman who brought you into this world. There will come a day when I won’t be here, and you will wish that you had put me first before your career.”
That was rich coming from her. Not to mention, I was a grown-ass woman. She expected me to drop everything and put her first when she wasn’t willing to do the same.
I smacked my palm against my forehead. “Is there a reason for this call?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. I just got off the phone with your aunt Brenda. Did you know that Nicole is graduating from Harvard in the spring and has accepted a job in London working for a big pharmaceutical firm?”
I clutched the phone tightly against my ear. “That’s great.”
Nicole was my cousin and the daughter my mom wished she had. She was smart and driven, and she graduated at the top of her class. I got decent grades, but not as good as Nicole’s. I also wasn’t a lawyer or a doctor with a PhD.
“Maybe you should give her a call. The two of you could get together sometime,” she said, acting as if it were a simple suggestion, when we both knew it was more than that.
Nicole and I were cordial at best. We were close in age but never got together outside of family functions. My mom was convinced that if I were around Nicole more, maybe she could change my mind and convince me to pursue a “real” profession.
“I’ll reach out when I get a chance and congratulate her.”
It was times like this where I wished I wasn’t an only child. Maybe then I wouldn’t be the sole recipient of her criticism.
