Page 75 of Hidden Desires

“Hi, Mom,” I say. I want to stand and hug her, but I don’t. Instead, I offer a small wave and motion at the empty chair.

She sits, unzips her parka but doesn’t take it off. The barrier stays up.

“I got a drink already,” I say. “Want anything?”

She shakes her head, eyes on the table. “I’m fine.”

We stare at each other. The silence is awkward, then just oppressive. I count the seconds—one, two, three—and then fill the gap.

“How’s Dad?” I say, keeping my voice neutral.

She shrugs, fiddles with a napkin. “He’s okay. Still angry about everything.”

I nod, not surprised. “You look tired, Mom.”

She snorts, and the sound is almost a laugh. “I am tired, Eliza. I haven’t been sleeping much.”

I don’t know what to say, so I default to the weather. “It’s supposed to snow tonight.”

She looks at me, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “Of course you’d know the forecast. You always hated being caught unprepared.”

That feels like an olive branch, so I take it. “Yeah. I, uh, actually got a snow shovel for the car. Jack said⁠—”

She tenses at his name, the small softness erased. “Are you still seeing him?”

I hesitate, but only for a second. “Yes. He’s good to me, Mom. I know he’s older, and he’s dad’s friend, but Jack loves me. That has to count for something.”

Nancy doesn’t answer. She picks at the edge of the napkin until it frays, then flattens it out again, careful and precise.

I try again. “I’m sorry about how things happened. I know it was a shock. But⁠—”

She cuts me off, voice soft but iron underneath. “It’s not just a shock, Eliza. It’s a betrayal. Your father can’t even say your name right now. He refers to you as ‘the girl’ now, like you’re a stranger. Or dead.” She swallows, eyes glistening. “And Jack—he was supposed to be like an uncle to you. Not your…” She trails off, the word unspoken but heavy in the air.

I feel my face flush, the old shame crawling up my neck, but I try to stand my ground. “I love him, Mom. And he loves me. That’s not something I’m sorry for.”

She shakes her head, eyes on the river outside. “It’s not just about him. Or even the age. It’s everything, Eliza. Your camming job, your choices—” She glances at me, then away again. “Do you know what people will say about you if they find out that you’re showing your body on-line? What they say about us?”

I bite my lip. “They won’t find out it’s me. I always blur my face. Besides, these hypothetical people don’t know me.”

She finally meets my eyes, and there’s real pain there. “I don’t know you either, Eliza. Not anymore.” The words land like a punch. “I thought I raised you better than this.”

I want to shout. I want to tell her how hard it is, how I have doubts too, how every day I wake up and wonder if I’ve made a giant mistake. I want to tell her that I did the best I could, and still ended up the villain. But instead, I just say, “I’m me, Mom. I’m still your daughter.”

She wipes at her eyes, then pulls herself together. “But why, Eliza? Why do you need to expose yourself like this?”

I almost laugh at the phrasing, but there’s no humor in it.

“It’s not about that. It’s just work, Mom. Again, I keep my face out of it, I keep my real name out of it. I’m careful. No one will ever know.”

Her eyes narrow, skepticism bordering on anger. “You really think secrets stay secret? You think the internet forgets? One day, this will all come back and bite you in the ass. You’ll regret it.”

I sip my coffee, hands shaking. “Maybe. But at least it’s my choice. Not yours. Not Dad’s. Mine.”

The conversation sours from there, both of us flinging the same words back and forth, neither able to hear the other. But underneath, I can feel the old gravity reasserting itself—her hopelessness, mixed with my exhaustion.

We circle back to silence, both drained.

Then, Nancy stands, parka zipped, and hesitates before saying, “Will you call again? Even if your father doesn’t want to speak to you—I do. Despite all this, you’re my daughter, and I miss you, Eliza. Even if I don’t understand your choices.”