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EMREE
My hometown is nothing to brag about. Westford is home to around two thousand people, and it is one of those places where everyone knows everyone. My mom’s great-grandparents first moved to the same house her parents live in now and her grandparents lived in before. Westford is a generational place, and while some may love the small-town charm and how everyone knows your past, it has never been a place for me.
My mom was the first in her family to leave Westford and go off to college. Her parents were nervous because my mom had never stayed in a big city before and Miami was as big as they get in Florida. Their nerves turned out to be true because my mother was raped her sophomore year, resulting in my life.
While my mom never resented me for her assault and for dropping out of college, some part of me wonders if she regrets keeping the child who was created in such a violent way. She always assured me that I was loved more than anything by our family, and I never felt anything less than unconditional love growing up. My grandparents were an active part of my life and were always there to help my mom when she needed someone to watch me. They tried to get my mother to go back to college, but she decided to take health and wellness classes at the local community college and now has her own studio outside of town. She offers everything from yoga and boot camp classes to nutritional help.
The house I grew up in is modest. It has three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a small kitchen with a dining area connected, and a living room that is big enough to fit two oversized couches and a TV stand. My mom has always been a more ‘one with nature’ kind of person and that is reflected in our house. There are plants in every room, on tables and hanging from plant holders. The colors are earthy tones: greens, browns, and rich oranges. Even if you didn’t grow up here like I did, the moment you walk into our house, you feel like you are at home. My mom also always has a candle burning, creating a warm ambience.
Even though my mom has been through the unimaginable, she is one of the most positive and uplifting people I know. On top of running her own business, she volunteers at the crisis center and helps women who have been through something similar to what she experienced. She is the most amazing woman, and I hope to be half as incredible as she is when I’m her age.
Since I could only bring so much material with me when I moved into the apartment, I’m now at my mom’s house to get the turquoise silk fabric that I know will make the perfect cocktail dress for Conrad’s banquet in five days.
“Tell me more about this event,” my mom gushes from the spot on my bed where she is lying on her stomach.
Even though she is in her early forties now, Margret Anders is still the definition of beauty. Her blonde hair sits at her collarbones, and there isn’t a gray hair in sight. While she has a few crow’s-feet around her eyes and some laugh lines framing her mouth, her skin is devoid of wrinkles or many signs of aging. With years of fitness and yoga, my mom has kept a body any twentysomething would be envious of.
Searching through the stacks of fabric, I smile, thinking about Conrad. “He said it’s some kind of banquet for the sports teams, but the men’s soccer team did the best this season by far, so they’re going to be spotlighted during the night.”
While my mom has known about Conrad, she has not officially met him yet. Between his soccer schedule, my work, our classes, and my mom running her own business, there never seems to be the right time. The two of them talked during one of my mom’s several FaceTime chats. He won her over with his charm, as he does with anyone who meets Conrad Dugray.
What I have failed to tell her is about our breakup, Conrad’s arranged marriage, him being disowned by his family, and then him confessing his love for me and trying to win me back. I felt as though my mom didn’t need to know all those details.
Finally finding the silk I’ve been looking for, I pull it out. “Aha, here it is.” Holding the fabric up, I inspect it, making sure there is enough material for me to make an outfit out of it.
“Oh, honey, that is going to look beautiful on you. The color is very flattering to your skin tone.”
Holding up the material against my arm and inspecting it, I happen to agree with her. My skin is now a shade darker, thanks to my last two beach visits, and the shimmering turquoise color makes my skin glow. While I have never made an outfit out of this material, I have had ideas playing around in my head for it. Conrad’s event seems like the perfect time to bring one of those ideas alive.
After carefully stuffing the fabric into my tote bag, I join my mom on my full-size bed. She hasn’t changed my room since I moved out for college almost three years ago. The walls are still the light blue I was obsessed with in high school, which reminds me of the sky. My comforter is a dusty-pink color and the bed, nightstand, and dresser are all an off-white.
My mom clasps my hand in hers. “How are you holding up, baby girl?”
One of the good things about living a few hours away from my mom is that it is easier to hide things from her when we communicate through the phone versus in person. She has always been able to tell when something is wrong. Each time I was bullied in school, I would try to compose myself before coming home and act as if nothing was wrong, but she knew after spending just a few minutes around me. Her favorite saying is, “A mother knows.”
Plastering on a smile, I squeeze my mom’s hand. “Everything is gravy, Mama.”
She arches a perfectly sculpted blonde eyebrow. “You know, lying to your mother is frowned upon in the eyes of the Lord.”
A laugh escapes me. “Mama, that would work if we were a religious family.”
“That’s beside the point,” she answers as she waves me off. “Tell your mom what’s going on in that head of yours.”
With a huff, I flop onto my back. “Why do you make it so hard to lie to you?”
“Because I’m your mom, and it’s a mom thing. Now tell me what’s been bothering you. Is it classes? Work? Conrad?”
“Conrad,” I groan. “We went through sort of a breakup the last month, and it’s been a roller coaster ever since.”
“Emmy, why didn’t you tell me?” She sounds genuinely hurt.
“Because I felt stupid. What he did and how he did it hurt me, and then when I found out the reasoning behind why he ended our relationship, it made me feel less than.”
My mom studies me. I’m sure what I just told her is confusing, with zero context of what happened. “Why don’t I put a pot of tea on and you tell me what has been going on?”
Half an hour and two cups of tea later, my mom knows everything that has happened in the last few weeks. From Conrad breaking up with me after spring break to seeing him with another woman and then finding out that their families had arranged for him to marry that woman until he went against his father and is now disowned.
