Page 81 of From Rivals to I Do

I use a little towel that hangs on the bathroom rod to wipe my wet face. I walk over to the toilet and sit for a wee. As my bladder empties its contents, I look around my little bathroom, memories from it seeping into me. I look at the bathtub and laugh. Jessica and I would fill it with water for a makeshift swimming pool when we were much smaller. I remember once, whilst we played in there, messing the whole place up with puddles of water, I had wanted to slide in from one end of the tub when I missed my steps and bashed the back of my head. It must have just been a little cut, but the blood mixed with the water in the bathtub, making it reddish.

Now, I laugh at how Jessica and I had feared that I lost blood the volume of the bathtub. Jess ran out naked to call Mother, screaming to her that I was dying. All that just for my mother to sigh and treat it with some spirit and a plaster to cover the cut.

I look at the slightly peeling wallpaper on the wall which must have witnessed our laughter, our tears, and our dreams. Now, they stand silent, as I take my steps toward an adventure I’ve yearned for since childhood.

The countdown to Japan has been a whirlwind of emotions. Excitement dances with nervousness, and uncertainty tugs at the edges of my anticipation. But this journey isn’t just about adventure; it’s a quest to find myself, to follow the trail of my own heart, and to discover the dreams I’ve been chasing in the shadow of others.

As the sun inches higher in the sky, casting a gentle morning glow through the window, I can’t help but wonder what lies ahead in the land of cherry blossoms and ancient traditions. Japan awaits, and with it, a chance for me to paint not just on a canvas but on the canvas of life itself.

I walk out of my room and into the living room, feeling the cool hardwood floor beneath my bare feet. A faint smell of cigarette smoke lingers in the air as I enter the living room. Lisa, my mother, stands on the balcony, her back to me, her silhouette framed by the soft morning light.

The balcony’s sliding glass door is left slightly ajar, allowing the cool morning breeze to snake its way into the room. The sound of Lisa’s soft humming mixes with the distant noises of the city awakening below.

I clear my throat, and Lisa turns her head slightly, not looking directly at me. A cigarette dangles between her fingers, smoke curling lazily from the tip as it disperses into the open air. My eyes fixate on the cigarette, and my tone carries a hint of disapproval.

“Mom, you shouldn’t smoke here. It’s not good for Alex,” I chide gently, taking a step closer to the balcony.

Lisa remains unfazed, her eyes still fixed on the sprawling cityscape before her. “Is that how you say good morning, dear?” she responds, her voice tinged with indifference.

I offer a hesitant smile, trying to break the ice. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Lisa replies curtly before taking another drag of her cigarette.

I turn to walk out of the balcony into the living room.

“Amber, dear,” Lisa calls out, “give me a minute.”

I take a deep breath and gather my resolve. Anytime she adds dear to my name when she calls me, I’m sure she has something to demand. I turn to face her.

“Could you help me with five hundred dollars please?” she asks, trying to sound cool.

I shift uncomfortably, choosing my words carefully. “Five hundred? Mom! I just gave you the same amount some days ago.” I pause. “I’m sorry, I really don’t have enough to spare.”

Lisa’s eyebrows furrow slightly as she exhales a plume of smoke. “Then what do you have to spare?”

“Nothing.”

Silence envelopes the balcony, except for the awakening Yorkers that speed by downstairs. My mother’s eyes narrow, and there’s a sharpness in her voice. “Nothing?” she says, pausing for a while. “You’re stuffing all that money just to fly off to some sushi-eating country?”

My heart sinks at my mother’s words. These conversations with her aren’t always easy, but my mother’s disapproval stings more than I expect. “It’s not just about sushi, Mom. Japan has a rich culture, and I’ve always been fascinated by it. This trip means a lot to me.”

She takes a final drag of her cigarette and stubs it out on the balcony railing. She turns to fully face me, her expression stern. “Amber, I’ve supported you through thick and thin. You wouldn’t even be able to afford this trip if it weren’t for the roof over your head and the food on your table. And now you won’t even help me out when I’m in need?”

“Roof over my head? Food on my table? Oh please, stop the jokes Mom.” My heartbeat quickens as angry blood courses through my body. “A roof that you left for me to manage! There’s hardly a thing I can point to and mention your name for the time and resources you put into it. You’re hilarious Mother. All you ever do is suck me dry, except when you get tips from any of the. . .”

“Shut up!” Lisa cries. “Don’t say one more word. You selfish child.” I can see the embarrassment swell in her eyes before she turns to look outside again.

“You don’t even show any concern toward your only grandchild. You act like he’s a punishment I alone should bear?” I say.

She cackles. “Like you’re not doing all of that because his dad still sends money? Huh? You’re just keeping the boy to milk him. And we both know it.”

“Oh that’s a lie,” I say. Tears well up in my eyes as I feel the weight of my mother’s words. I take her words to heart. Am I actually selfish? I push the thoughts away. Even if I am, she deserves every ounce of it. My dreams and aspirations are my own, and I’ve worked hard for them.

I try to ease the tension that has peaked. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Mom, and I’m not trying to be selfish. It’s just that this trip means so much to me, and I’ve been saving for it for a long time.”

She sighs and turns to me. “Fine, Amber. Do what you want. It’s your life.”

I watch my mother walk away, not exactly sure of how to feel. I feel numb.

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