Page 10 of Love Her

Chapter 5

Felicity

Listening to her hiccups as the tears pour from her eyes, my heart aches in ways I haven’t felt since I was a teenager. Heartbreak comes in many forms. Sometimes it is thrust upon you by the boy you’ve loved from afar while he never noticed you existed. But for some it’s in the form of your father leaving you and missing every important part of your young life. No matter how it comes, heartbreak is devastating. My daughter’s heart is shattered because of so many reasons, but tonight’s devastation is courtesy of the ever present mean girl.

It’s a persona I know well. I have been that girl in this town most of my life. There was a time I saw the title as a badge of honor. Something that set me apart—and above—everyone else. Girls wanted to be my friend because they assumed it kept them safe from my wrath. The boys wanted in my pants because the rumor was that bitchy girls gave it up.

All of it was inaccurate. I was cruel and mean to everyone regardless of whether you sat with me at lunch or not. And, I was a virgin until I was twenty years old.

Now, as I hold my daughter in my arms and try to soothe her with my fingers scratching her back, I wonder if this is the universe’s way of paying me back for my treatment of others. Karma at its finest. Her sobs are gone and replaced with sniffles and the occasional sigh. I remember being ten years old and full of emotions. It sucked then but something about watching my daughter at this age is worse.

“Honey, I know your feelings are hurt but those girls aren’t worth your tears.”

“You don’t understand what it’s like,” she wails. If only she knew. “What did I do to them? We were friends and now they are saying all those mean things. Shanna wouldn’t even sit with me at lunch.”

It has only been a few years since my daughter was no different than these girls. Her attitude and treatment of others was less than sweet. It was downright dreadful. Children learn their behaviors and boy did she learn mine. Thankfully, with a new reality and the help of my parents we’ve both succeeded at turning things around. Yet, reminding Clementine of how she behaved wouldn’t be productive nor would it make her feel better. I want her to know that, like she has changed, like we’ve both changed, these girls will too. Or they won’t. No matter what happens tomorrow or five years from now, I know this moment will make her stronger and remind her to be kind.

“You know, when I was your age, Grammy would hold me like this and remind me that I was special and loved deeply no matter what happened at school. I didn’t believe her then. I thought she was only saying those things to make me feel better. But you know what?”

Flipping to face me, her red-rimmed eyes are wide, the bright blue that usually greets me, dulled. Sniffling, she folds her hands under her cheek, waiting for words of wisdom from her mom. I only hope I don’t screw this up.

“I’m not going to tell you that. You know how much I love you. How much Grammy and PopPop love you. Don’t even get me started on your brother. That boy holds the title of President of the Clementine Thorne fan club.”

Poking her side, I smile and am rewarded with one in return. She hiccups a sigh, her puffy eyes heavy after hours of fighting through emotions.

“What I want you to remember, Clem, is those girls, the ones who hurt your feelings today, are behaving this way for a reason. We may never know what that reason is, but trust me when I say, the mean girls are probably hurting in one way or another. People who are hurting often hurt people.”

“I used to be mean. When I was little, and daddy was here, and we lived in that big house . . . Mrs. Honeycutt told me I made her heart sad and Grammy would tell me to stop actin’ ugly. Do you think that’s why they don’t like me anymore? Because I’m ugly?”

As her mother, I want to tell her no. I want to remind her that she’s smart, funny, and the best big sister ever. When she first came home upset, my mom had to stop me from calling the parents of those children and telling them to punish their children for hurting my daughter. Mom reminded me of who I was in this town, the reputation I created by my own actions and wore like a badge of honor. The same badge my daughter inherited by the time she was three. Just as I know I’m judged for my past behaviors, the reputation bestowed upon me years ago, these children will be too.

The whispers aren’t as quiet as they are meant to be. “Like mother like daughter” and “Apples don’t fall far from the tree” are spoken about us more often than prayers before supper.

I know the hurt and loneliness that comes from that sort of reputation, the efforts it takes to maintain that level of ugliness. I don’t want that for any child. Not my own or any other.

The version of me who walked around this town wasn’t the person I was deep inside. It wasn’t the way my parents raised me but instead, the mask I wore. Shame for how I behaved then, and even sometimes today, sits on my chest like a badge of dishonor. Keeping my feelings to myself, the hurt and irrational teenage angst that consumed me, I changed quickly. Gone was the smiling and happy girl and in her place an angry and vindictive teenager. The humiliation my parents must have felt having me for a daughter is something I’ve apologized for over and over. Neither my mother nor my father ever told me of their disappointment, but I knew.

Often, I wonder if I’d apologized, asked for a second chance with my peers, if my life would be different.

“Adults call that payback or karma,” I say under my breath.

“Huh?”

Ignoring her question I say, “First, Grammy meant ugly behavior and while you are sometimes a little snippy with your brother, I think you’ve worked hard on that. Regardless, I don’t think it’s okay to be mean to anyone.” The words are from my heart, but they taste sour on my tongue. More than anyone, I am guilty of being ugly.

“I know that we’ve had a lot of life changes these last few years, but no matter what we’ve lost, it’s important to count our blessings. Trust me, you won’t always get along with everyone, but it doesn’t mean treating people poorly is okay. What’s important is that you give grace when you need to and that you wake each day with the intent to be kind.”

“Maybe I should go back to my old school. The one before we moved here with Grammy and Pop.”

Her private school. The one that cost tens of thousands of dollars a year.

“Changing schools isn’t the answer. You can’t run from the situations like this. But maybe we make a few smaller changes.” Ones that don’t cost a ton of money. The reality of how little financial security we have is an ugly reminder of our prior life.

Sitting up, Clem puts her hand on my cheek, her eyes searching my own. I see so much of myself in her it frightens me. I never want my children to feel the loneliness or hurt that sits deep inside of me. They deserve the stars and the moon, regardless of the two assholes who created them.

“Mom, why are you so sad?”

“I’m not sad, honey. I’m just tired and worried about you.”

---