Page 79 of Pretty Heartache

She releases me. Her fingertips play with the ends of my hair before she finally let’s go. “I’ve been worried about you.”

“Have you?” I ask, tilting my head with narrowed eyes.

“Yes.” She blinks. A small humorless laugh escapes her. “Of course, I have. You’re my daughter, Addy. Your father and I will always worry about you.”

“You know, I haven’t been home in three years, but I already know at least one thing hasn’t changed.” I bite back the tears threatening to spill at the sight of my mother standing in front of me. “You’re still lying for him.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Addy.”

I close my eyes. “Stop calling me Addy.”

“Fine.” She sighs the moment I open my eyes. “Adeline.”

I try to stand my ground and not allow my mother to see my emotions—it’s never worked for me in the past—but I can’t help it. Seeing my mother brings back every memory. All the times she would tuck me in at night. All the times I felt her fingers in my hair as she braided it before dance class. All the times she sat across from me at the dinner table in silence while my father yelled at me, telling me how pathetic I was. The times I’d come home from school wearing makeup, only for him to slap me across the face before telling me to wash it off because I looked like a whore. Seeing my mother standing at the end of the hallway. Silent.

While I’ve felt my mother’s warm touch and loving embrace, it’s only ever been empty displays of affection.

“The entire time,” I manage to say, swallowing back the emotion threatening to spill over. “The entire time, you never spoke up. You never said a word.”

“I’ve told you before.” Her voice is soft and calm. “He was never like that with me. Your father is a good man.”

“Just stop.” I raise my voice. “Don’t you see how fucked up that sounds?”

Her eyes widen and she takes a step back, clearly wounded by my words and my sudden change in tone. But I’m tired of pretending with my mother, dancing around the shards of glass laying at our feet, preventing us from growing closer to understanding one another.

“Your father loves you,” she reassures me.

I want to scream and yell. I want to kick my feet and pull my fucking hair out.

“You say it so casually as if it makes everything okay. As if I’m supposed to accept that his love will override everything he ever did. And if he does love me as you say, well, he had a great way of showing it.” I grind my teeth together, almost certain they’re going to crack. “And so did you.”

“I took care of you, Addy-“ She clears her throat, wiping her hair away from her face. “Adeline.” Her bracelets clank against one another. “I did everything I could to give you the best life possible.”

“And you also stood by and did absolutely nothing!” I cry. I can’t help it. The feelings I have for my mother are complex and difficult to reconcile. The anger and hatred I have for my father is clear. Every breath I drew was one he resented. With him, he’s easy to hate.

But it’s difficult to love someone who took care of you, loved you, and nurtured you from birth. The one where when you lookinto their eyes, you see your own. But they also stood by and basked in their complicity, all while you were left wondering why they never had the courage to stand up for you.

No. Those feelings are much more difficult to reconcile.

A tear spills from my eye, and I’m quick to wipe it away.

My mother’s gaze softens again—her empty way of consoling me.

“There’s nothing I could have done.” She nervously sweeps her tongue across her red-painted lips. Her chin trembles, and for once I see her show emotion. Like her heart isn’t completely surrounded by armor made of steel. “I did the best I could with what I had. With both you and Archer.”

Her mention of Archer sparks something inside me. Like the far off look in her eyes tells me there’s deeper meaning behind her statement.

I pity her, and the longer I stand here in front of her, the more I feel sad for her. The sadness clings to the warmth I feel from her. Staining it and dying it with frigid, black darkness.

She reaches out, and with her shaking hand, grabs onto mine. “I’m proud of you, Adeline. You’ve turned out better than I could have ever hoped for.”

“How so? I haven’t talked to you in months, Mom.”

“Your modeling.” A tiny smile tugs on her lips. “I’ve seen your comp card. So beautiful.”

My eyebrows pull together. “You saw my comp card?”

“Well, yes.” She blinks. “Of course, I have.”

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