Page 80 of Cross To Bear

“There she is!” Mum said as I walked in the back door later that night. I’d pushed some paper around at home, but didn’t get a lot of work done, despite my best efforts.

I didn’t want to come. I could’ve used the excuse of being sick with my mother as well, but that seemed to set her into overdrive. I’d have herbal remedies and hot tea with honey on my doorstep in seconds, then she’d come inside and start fussing. Over me, my apartment, how safe it was, the state of my housekeeping. All things I wasn’t worried about.

“How are you, darling?” This was always the best time, when she was happy to see me, but as she ducked in to kiss my cheek, she frowned. “What’re you doing in a turtleneck? It does nothing for you. Makes you look shorter and squatter—”

“Mum.”

Just one word uttered in a tight warning. I eyed her then, making clear what would happen if she persisted.

“It’s much too warm for a turtleneck today,” she said, tapping me on the arm. “I was just thinking of your comfort.”

Sure, let’s go with that.

“So how’s single life treating you?”

She bumped her hip with mine before bustling around the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the salad we were having for dinner. Always salad. Dad would complain, saying he wanted a proper cooked meal and then Mum would counter that she couldn’t bear such heavy food. It was terrible for her waistline, anyway. Then Dad would munch grumpily through whatever Mum put on his plate, never getting off his arse to make his own damn hot meal.

OK, I might have spent the afternoon wondering what the fuck I wanted in life, but right now something was crystal clear. Not fucking this.

“Um… I might’ve met someone.”

“Met someone?” She looked up from her chopping board then set the knife aside. “Already? Darling, you’ve just gotten out of a terrible relationship. Surely you want some time to play the field, have a little fun.”

I blinked, trying to reconcile my mother’s idea of fun with what happened at the bar.

“I am having fun, Mum. That’s the—”

“I talked to some of my friends about your situation and we think just dating would be the best thing for you.” She shot me a sidelong look. “Karen’s son is newly divorced, and by the look of his ex-wife, he doesn’t mind a girl with a bit of padding on her.”

I went stock still, now perfectly alert.

“Fat, Mum. The word you’re looking for is fat. His ex-wife was fat.”

“That’s such an ugly word—”

“No, no, it’s not. It’s just a realistic one. If someone’s plus sized and they don’t like me using it, I would never, but…” I grabbed my stomach brutally. “This is fat. I’m fat and we agreed that because we can’t see eye to eye on this issue, we’d avoid talking about it. Can you do that, or do I need to go home?”

Her low hiss was obviously one of frustration, and I caught the moment when her jaw muscle flexed.

“You’re always so sensitive—”

“Nope, just enforcing a hard boundary. You don’t have to like it or even abide by it, but I won’t stick around to have you trample all over it. We’ve been through this before—”

“What’ve you been through before?” Dad’s voice cut through the tension in the kitchen like a knife as he peered at me then Mum. “What’s going on? You’ve only just got here, Madeline, and you’re already arguing with your mother?”

I sucked in a breath, then another, shaking my head as my back straightened.

“Not arguing, just clearly stating the terms of me being here,” I replied in my best firm and even voice. It only quavered a little bit.

“Something you seem to think you’ve got carte blanche to impose,” Dad said then looked at what Mum was preparing before scrunching his nose up. “Bloody salad again? We talked about this, Daphne.”

“Well, if you want something else, perhaps you should prepare dinner.”

Mum shoved the chopping board away from her and stepped back with a slap of her hands. She rarely did this, usually rushing around to try and find a compromise Dad would accept, but other times, it was like this. Her staring at him with a mulish expression, not looking away until he did.

“Don’t cook anything for me,” he said with a sniff. “I’ll go up to the pub and grab a counter meal. Floss knows how to prepare proper food.”

“We’re having a family dinner.” The thread of iron in Mum’s voice was what upped the stakes. Dad stopped mid-exit, turning around. “Madeline doesn’t come around often, so I want everyone around the dinner table.”

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