AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“How long?” I whisper into the room, unable to turn and meet her gaze.
My mother sounds bored. “How long what?”
“How long were you screwing your best friend’s husband?” I hiss.
No wonder she didn’t think Steven’s affair was a big deal, why she thought it was a forgivable offense—she was screwing her dead best friend’s husband all these years. She has no moral compass.
When I turn to look at my mother, waiting for her response, I see nothing but rightful indignation. “I saw him first.”
I saw him first.
The words play in my head, like putty in my fingers, sticky and unfathomable. And oh so childish.
“How long, Mom?”
“You know if it weren’t for you, we would have been together sooner,” she taunts. She’s like a petulant child.
“Mother,” I chide.
“It’s true. He and Hope had troubles after Carter was born. She was so obsessed with being a mother, she forgot to be a wife.”
I roll my eyes. “And you were so obsessed with being a mistress you forgot to be a friend…or a mother,” I add.
Her chin remains upright, as if she believes she’s truly above me.
Whatever…I’d rather be several rungs below her than be her equal.Thatwould be the true injustice.
She shakes her head. “We’ve been better, Grace. Even you have to admit, I’ve been trying.”
“Because you wanted information on my boyfriend—not me!” I shout, my emotions finally getting the best of me. These last few months I’d actually begun to believe my mother cared about me. That she truly wanted to get to know me. That I maybe could have a real relationship with the woman who birthed me.
As if she’s been struck, my mother’s stoic expression falters. “That’s not true. When I reached out to you, I had no idea you were with Cassius. Honestly, I would have tried to steer you away from him. This is not ideal,” she says, pointing to my stomach, as if my daughter is the interloper in this arena. Of course, she would consider a child to blame, not herself.
“So, what was your plan, Mom? Why even reconnect? You had to know I’d never approve of this life you’ve been leading.” I look back at the pictures, a pang gripping my chest as I wonder if Cash’s mom knew all along that her best friend was screwing her husband. If on top of battling cancer, she felt belittled and worthless like I had after learning of Steven’s affair. I hope if she was aware, that her children gave her the love and attention, the purpose and fulfillment that I have found after discovering my husband’s infidelity.
I grip my stomach in solidarity with the woman who carried my daughter’s father into this world, apologizing for the transgressions of my mother. Someone who couldn’t care less about what she did or who she hurt.
“Ed and I were in love, but he wanted more children.” The words hang in the air between us. She wanted more children too. Not because she actually wanted more children but because she wanted to be with Edward. And she couldn’t have them because she had emergency surgery when I was born—my fault of course—which left her unable to become pregnant again.
I close my eyes, already exhausted from this conversation. “So you continued an affair with your best friend’s husband while he impregnated his wife.Unbelievable.”
And then because I can’t help myself…I get in a jab. “But Chase isn’t Hope’s.”
Bitterness colors my mother’s eyes, jealousy tinges her cheeks, and anger pulls her teeth together. “No, he’s not.”
“And do you know who is?” I taunt.
An aloofness returns to my mother’s demeanor. I mean, she has had twenty-seven years to adjust to the idea that her lover cheated on her as well. Once a cheater, always a cheater. But when she tells me the answer, even I find myself gaping. I can’t form a response. My mother clearly doesn’t want to discuss it further, so she turns on her heel and walks toward the kitchen.
“Let’s have tea. We can discuss why you’re here.”
Unable to process much, I mindlessly watch as she moves around her kitchen, a place she seems completely comfortable, and makes us tea.
She motions for me to sit at the table, and I pull out the cream cushioned chair and focus outside on the streets of Boston which are lined with cherry blossoms that are fully bloomed. The pinks are vibrant and sway in the wind. A child skips down the street, holding her mother’s hand. When the girl tugs on her mother’s arm, they pause their skipping, and the little girl says something that has her mother’s head falling back in laughter. I can almost hear their joy. Feel it in my soul. My hand goes to my stomach again, caressing my daughter in a promise that we’ll be like them—not like this cold detached relationship I share with the woman in this room.
The tea kettle whistles, signaling the end to the silence, and my mother rattles around for a few more moments as she grabs the cups, steeps the teabag, and sets it before me, sitting in the chair opposite mine.
“I want a seat at the table,” my mother says calmly.
