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Ican tell something is wrong the second I step out of the elevator. For one thing, Harlow isn’t humming Christmas carols. But it’s more than that. Her presence isn’t here, her warmth sorely missing from the office.
“Harlow?” I call out as I approach her desk. It’s empty, but her computer is still on. After further investigation, I notice her coat and purse are gone. What the hell?
“She won’t be coming back,” a voice sounds from behind me.
I straighten my back, every muscle in my body tensing as I try to push back my rage.
“What did you do, mother?” I growl, turning around to look at her. She’s in my office, sitting at my chair with her feet propped up on my desk. The smile spreading across her face is more sinister than saccharine, and I already know I’m going to hate whatever she says next.
“I took out the trash,” she answers as she straightens up in her seat.
“Harlow isn’t trash,” I bark out. Circling my desk, I cross my arms as I stare down at my mother. “What did you do?” I ask again.
“Look, I didn’t really have a plan when I came here today, I just had my suspicions. Her own father already took her down a peg from what I overheard of their phone call. I just pushed her along in that same direction.”
“What? What did you say? I swear to God if you ruin this for me–”
“What else was I supposed to do?” she whines, finally standing up to face me. “You’ve been ignoring my texts and calls all week. You hardly have time for me as it is. You might just forget about your poor old mother completely if you have a little girlfriend taking up your free time!”
It takes a few seconds for her words to sink in. My brain has to restart itself before responding. When I do, my voice is sharp, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.
“Do you realize how unbelievably selfish that is? You’re not getting what you want out of our dynamic, so you want to chase away any chance I have at love so you can dig your claws even deeper into my life? My wallet, too, I might add.”
“Love?” my mother scoffs. “That girl is a decade and a half younger than you. She doesn’t know what she wants out of life, let alone how to love.”
“And you do?” I challenge. Her blue eyes flash with a mean streak I’ve seen time and time again.
“I had my fun, and see where that left me? Begging my only son for one iota of his attention.”
I begin pacing back and forth, rubbing my temples to ward off the migraine blooming behind my eyes.
“No. Love didn’t do that to you, mother. You did that all on your own. And now you’ve decided to sever ties with the only person who can even remotely stand you.”
“What are you saying?” she gasps dramatically, her hand coming up to clutch her imaginary pearls.
“I will not let you destroy the one good thing I have in my life. In the last two weeks, Harlow has shown more care and interest in me and my life than you ever have, so of course, I’m going to choose her.”
I’m beyond livid, my heart smashing against my ribcage as I take ragged breaths. Where is Harlow now? How long has she been gone? What the fuck did her father say to make her skittish?
“Now, Bishop, don’t do anything you’re going to regret,” my mother states.
I turn my attention to the woman who has been nothing but a drain on me emotionally, spiritually, and financially for most of my life. Part of me wants to rage at her, list off all the ways she’s manipulated me, taken advantage of me, and all around been a thoughtless, careless person. But the bigger part of me is just… tired.
She’s exhausting. She has been for years, and I’m done. Done with the drama, the manipulation, the gaslighting. Done with her guilt trips and unreasonable expectations. Done with her toxicity and chaos.
Looking at my mother now, I almost feel sorry for her. She’s bitter, angry, and pessimistic about everything. She pushes everyone and everything away, making her fear of being alone a self-fulfilling prophecy.
“The only thing I regret is not doing this sooner,” I tell her.
“You’re not serious,” she hedges, though her voice has a tinge of panic. “Bishop, honey, we can work through this. I’ll apologize and take you two out to dinner.”
“No.”
I stride over to my office door, holding it open for her and ushering her out.
“This isn’t happening,” she protests. “I’m your mother!”
“You haven’t earned that position in my life,” I tell her sternly.
