Page 41 of About That Night

Both him and his mama.

She’s got me wrapped tighter around her finger than she even knows.

Chapter Twelve

Chastity

Nothing in my childhood home has changed.

It’s a brick bungalow on a quiet street, and it feels as unwelcoming as I remember it.

Furniture perfectly arranged and not meant for sitting on, just for appearances. Framed photos of my grandparents, my mom and dad’s wedding portrait, a picture of me as a baby. The carpet is still the same. Burgundy.

I don’t know why I imagined it would all be different. Maybe because if it was so easy to cut me off, they could just as easily change up the house. Out with the old, in with the new. Which doesn’t really make sense. It’s only been five years, and my leaving had nothing to do with their home decor.

But it still feels weird. Like time has stood still. A perfectly clean and curated life that seems devoid of joy, to be honest. Did my parents ever really laugh? Half the reason I was always rebelling and running off to friends’ houses was because my parents' relationship with each other, and with me, was always so restrained, controlled. Full of rules and tests of my behavior.

I wasn’t even a wild child, even though I refer to myself that way. That is just conditioning. I was taught to think I was wild and out of control, when in reality, I was just a normal kid.

“Have a seat,” my mother says awkwardly, gesturing to the couch.

My father declined to be here.

Which tells me everything I need to know. He hasn’t forgiven me. When I don’t even need forgiveness. How ironic is that?

“Thanks. How are you?” I ask my mother, genuinely curious and concerned. She looks…tired. She also keeps glancing at her phone and the front door.

“Oh, I’m hanging in there.” But my mother sits down across from me, heavily. She grimaces like she’s in pain.

My parents were a little older when they had me, but they’re still only in their early sixties. She should look perkier than she does. “Mom, are you sure? You don’t seem like yourself.”

My mother was always a little caustic, but she downright snaps at me now. “Well, now how would you know if I seem like myself or not? You haven’t seen me in years.”

I’m shocked. It feels like a slap in the face. As if I walked out in a selfish flounce. “That wasn’t my decision. That was yours.”

Suddenly, there are tears in her eyes, and she sighs. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby.” She lifts a shaky hand and places it on my knee. “I didn’t mean…I never wanted…” Now she’s full-on sobbing. “It’s just…”

She can’t seem to bring herself to finish a sentence, and I realize it’s because she doesn’t want to condemn or speak ill of my father. It confirms to me that she was following my father’s lead.

“Dad doesn’t know I’m here, does he?” That’s why she keeps glancing at the door. He’ll be angry with her if he knows.

She shakes her head. “No. I just wanted to see you. I had to know you’re okay, Chastity. You look beautiful.”

I stand up and then squat down and give her a hug with a big sigh. “Oh, Mom…you should be able to see me if you want to.”

In that moment, I forgive her. Fully and completely. Throughout my life, she let my father dictate everything about their lives, and it just makes me feel sad for her.

“You don’t understand.”

“No, I really don’t. That’s true. But I won’t come around anymore. I don’t want to get you into any sort of trouble with Dad. And I will not expose my son to this kind of dynamic. You’re afraid of your husband, Mom. That’s not cool.”

“You don’t know anything about marriage.”

This is why it’s hard to feel sympathetic toward her. When she feels cornered by my father, she lashes out at me. “No, I don’t. But I do know being afraid of my partner is no way to live.”

“I’m not afraid of your father. It’s complicated.”

“Okay.” I refuse to argue with her. It’s her life. But that’s the thing. It’s not mine. I return to the sofa and sit down and wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t.

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