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“My mother? Are you sure?”
“Like I said, she didn’t say, but she really didn’t have to, Val. She’s the splitting image of you.”
“I’m nothing like her,” I snap, offended, jumping off the bed.
“Do you want me to go downstairs and tell her you don’t want to see her?” he questionswhile handing me my silk pink robe with a shy look in his eyes, and that’s when I realize I’m stark naked.
“No. I’ll tell her myself,” I retort scornfully, putting my robe on in quick haste, ready to kick my mother out of this house and make sure the wretched woman never comes back.
How dare she come now?
A full month after the only parent who ever loved me died. How fucking dare she? I just add her sucky timing to the list of never-ending things I hate about the woman.
As I rush down the stairs, I get even more pissed when I find that she’s made herself at home in our living room, instead of staying put in the foyer where I’m sure Logan asked her to stay. Her back is to me, so she hasn’t realized my presence yet, giving me time to take stock of the stranger in front of me.
In elegant couture, my mother is impeccably dressed from head to toe. In a black pencil skirt and red silk blouse, she looks just as sophisticated and cold as the recollections I hold of her. Memories of her preferred red lipstick come to the forefront of my mind. How annoyed she was when one time, I tried it on. I must have been only five at the time, but I remember the tongue-lashing she gave me for going through her things to this very day.
She continues to stroll around the living room and only stops to pick up a photo of me and Dad from one of the upper shelves. She takes a full minute before returning it to its rightful spot. I don’t know if it’s the fact that she’s surrounded by my most treasured memories or if it’s because she forced me to enter this room that I had vowed no longer existed, but my anger of her being here increases tenfold.
It’s then that she turns around and sees me. Now, face to face, I see that my mother hasn’t aged in the slightest. She’s still as beautiful as the day she packed up her things and abandoned my father and I.
“Valentina,” she pronounces, with a sad slanted grin to her trademark red lips.
“Adrienne,” I retort coldly, refusing to acknowledge her as my mother.
“My, how you’ve grown,” she continues this time, having the audacity to walk towards me.
I hold out my hand, silently telling her not to move any closer. God forbid she attempts to hug me or any other maternal urge she wishes to fabricate.
“What are you doing in my house, Adrienne?”
Her shoulders slump as does the smile on her face.
“Can’t a mother visit her own daughter?”
“Yes, a mother could. But I don’t see one in this room. Do you?”
“I guess I deserve that,” she mutters under her breath.
“Oh, don’t even get me started on what you deserve,” I snap back, balling my hands into fists at my side.
“I see you’ve still held on to that unruly personality of yours. Even when you were a small girl, you always had so much fire in you.”
“If you came to reminisce about the good old days, let me stop you right there. There weren’t any when you were a part of my life. If that’s the reason that brought you into my home, then don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.”
“I learned about your father’s passing. I came to give my respects,” she replies softly, completely ignoring my disrespectful remark.
I, however, am incapable of keeping my cool. Especially considering she’s here to pay respects to a man who she didn’t care for in the least.
“Consider them given. You can leave now,” I rebuke sternly, pointing to the door.
“Valentina, please don’t be so difficult. I really want to talk with you.”
“And I don’t want to hear a word you have to say. Not when you’re standing in the very room where my beloved father died!” I blurt out, my whole body shaking profusely.
There is a long awkward pause that ensues, but thankfully, it’s one I need to gain back my composure.
“I don’t want to add any more grief to your life, but I still want us to talk.”
