Page 131 of Restore Me

Mom.

Suddenly, the memory of my mother’s visit the morning after the party hits me. She was in the room when I woke up because my roommate let her in, and I have no idea how long she was there before the weight of her disapproving stare woke me up.

It’s wholly possible she could have seen Dom’s note and gotten rid of it before I ever laid eyes on it. That would certainly explain the way she acted after the legacy pledge breakfast: the speech about me having loose morals, the implication that I was boy-crazy and more concerned with partying than getting an education.

My mother has never been a nice woman, but that day she was especially cruel. And I guess now it makes sense. She saw me acting out in all the ways that went against her code of perfection and wasted no time nipping it in the bud.

Isolating me in a single dorm on the opposite side of campus from my friends. Threatening to tell my father about finding me hungover after my first night of freedom. Stealing my only chance at remembering Dom and changing the course of my life forever. But would she do something like that?

There’s only one way to find out.

“Actually, I think I will take you up on that offer. What time should I meet you guys there?”

Dad rattles off the details, and as soon as we’re off the phone I race upstairs to get dressed. My stomach is in knots as I pull on my clothes and force my curls into submission. Just the thought of speaking to my mother about that day makes me want to throw up, but I know I have to do this.

For me and Dom.

For the future I dreamed of having with him just days ago.

For the one that was stolen from us, but ultimately gave me Eric.

* * *

“Are you expecting a phone call from someone special?”

My mother’s eyebrows dance whimsically as she says the last two words, but her smile is still stiff and cold around the edges, reminding me of the ugly curl of her lips on that day. We’ve just finished eating and are sipping mimosas by the bar while my father chats with some colleagues across the room. The moment he left us alone I started feeling anxious and pulled out my phone just to have someplace to redirect my energy while I figured out how to broach the topic.

I turn my phone over in my lap and hold in the laugh that’s building in my chest. The irony of her using our first moment alone in weeks to meddle in my personal life is almost too much. She still hasn’t apologized for the hurtful things she said at that dinner, and now I’m about to ask her to own up to yet another horrible thing she’s done to me.

“No. Just waiting on some important news for one of my projects.”

She frowns at my mention of work on a Saturday. “You work too much, Sloane. When do you make time to live your life?”

I set my glass on the bar. “I love my job, Mom. I work hard because I’m good at it, but in no way does it stop me from living my life.” Certainly didn’t stop me from making a mess of it.

Her lips are pressed into a tight line. And I can’t help but wonder if she’s physically restraining herself from making some smart remark about me being good at making a rich man happy if I put my mind to it.

“Darling, you haven’t been in a serious relationship since your marriage ended, and I don’t need to remind you how hard dating is after a woman turns thirty.”

My mouth falls open. “My marriage didn’t end, Mom. My husband died. There’s a huge difference. ”

She waves a dismissive hand at me as she takes another sip of her drink. “You know what I meant, Sloane. Honestly, do you always have to make me out to be some kind of monster who doesn’t appreciate what you’ve been through?”

“You don’t appreciate what I’ve been through. You constantly minimize my grief, just like you minimized my marriage because you never liked Eric. Once you realized he didn’t come with a trust fund or private school education, you wrote him off.”

I’m shaking and my voice is shrill, but thankfully low, as I hurl the words at her. All of the things I’ve thought but never said because I didn’t think her view of the world could ever impact my relationships in any real way. But today I know that’s not true, and I’m pissed at her for all of it.

Not because I regret Eric—I could never do that—but because it had to have torn Dom apart to watch us together, to love me, and let someone else have me. I spent twenty-four hours thinking he loved someone else, but he lived that reality for twelve years. And it must have been hell for him.

A hell my mother crafted with her own selfish hands.

One of those hands wrap around my forearm as she leans towards me. “Lower your voice.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I snatch my arm away from her. “The last thing I want to do is embarrass you by making a scene in public.”

“You’re an adult, Sloane. The only person you’ll be embarrassing is yourself.”

“I don’t give a damn what these people think of me, but you do. And you’ve always cared more about perception than anything else.”

---