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I’m not ready for this. I’m half-awake, uncaffeinated, and don’t have my guards up. “Well, it’s nine in the morning,” I answer.
“Exactly. The day’s half-gone and you’re being lazy. It looks like you’ve barely gotten out of bed.” Her eyes rove over me, and unconsciously, I run a palm over my head to smooth my hair down. I’m sure it’s frizzy and wild, especially with the way Cole had his hands in it last night.
“I was asleep and not expecting company.”
Mom waves a hand dismissively. “Is that coffee I smell? You should offer guests a drink.” She doesn’t wait for me to do as instructed but rather follows her nose to the kitchen where Cole has apparently already made coffee for us. “Where are your mugs?” she asks, opening and closing cabinets.
I open the cabinet over the coffee maker, because of course, that’s where the mugs are, but opening that one wouldn’t have let her snoop in all the other ones. I take out two mugs and fill them with skinny pours of coffee. Mom won’t need more because she won’t be here that long. Hopefully.
She grabs the milk from the refrigerator, checking the date with a frown on her face, seeming disappointed that it’s fine and not expired. “Are you grocery shopping today? You barely have any food in the fridge.” Yeah, even with relatively fresh milk, there’s still something I’m doing wrong to complain about.
“What do you want, Mom?” I ask curtly. The time for polite manners is long past and this conversation is way overdue.
“That’s no way to speak to your mother,” she replies with a sharp look as she takes a sip of her coffee. Then she peers down into the depths of the mug, sneering like it’s dog water, not freshly-brewed dark roast.
How did I do this for so long? Even her voice sets me on edge, making my flight or fight response kick in. I can feel my heart starting to race and the sleep fog clearing from my brain.
Fine. Let’s do this.
I’m not ready, but in a way, I am.
I don’t apologize the way she expects. I stare back blankly, giving no reaction, which is what she really wants. I don’t think it even matters if it’s an emotionless apology, a sniveling beg for forgiveness, or a bitchy comeback. Any reaction keeps the game going, and that’s what makes her the winner in her book.
I’m not sure if she even realizes that. I don’t think I’ve ever considered what she thinks or feels, too caught up in my own trauma. But I’m repairing mine, bit by bit, day by day. Mom’s damage is her own to deal with. It’s no longer mine to soothe, especially at my own expense.
Not sure what to do with the change in play, Mom sighs heavily. “Well, I’m sure you know you completely ruined Paisley’s reception. It was her special day, but you had to make it about you the way you always do.”
I gawk, in shock at her words.
Make it about me? Nothing, literally nothing, in my family is ever about me.
Mom’s on a roll, doing a fair bit of rambling herself. “You’ve always been such a jealous girl—of Paisley, your other cousins, and even Jessica. But I thought you’d behave for a wedding, for Christ’s sake. You owe Paisley an apology. Poor Glenda too. She’s been calling nearly every day, crying about how ugly everything got and asking if you’re ready to make it up to them. I’ve had to tell my sister ten times already that you’re off sulking the way you always do.”
Every word is a knife, sharp and precise. She’s had years of practice, after all, and knows right where to stab to cause the most damage.
“I’m sorry—” I start, but she interrupts me.
“Don’t tell me. It’s Paisley and Glenda you need to tell,” she says.
I take a deep breath and start again. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t the daughter you wanted. But I was the one you had, and you never let me forget, not for a second, that I wasn’t good enough.”
She rolls her eyes and mumbles under her breath, “Here we go again. Poor, pitiful Janey.”
I don’t let her derail me. “Funny thing is, once I got away from you, I still thought I wasn’t good enough. And I let that little voice in my head lead me into relationships that weren’t right for me. But I’ve done a lot of thinking, Mom, and I want you to know . . . I do have value. I’m worth loving. Maybe not to you, but to an entire world of people out there, I’m loveable. More importantly, I love myself.”
I think about Cole and the way he loves me with his whole heart. I think about the Harringtons, who I’m still getting to know but have welcomed me with open arms in a way my own family never has. And I think about my own sense of self and how it’s grown exponentially.
