Page 113 of Breathe Again

She sat down finally. “Phew, that’s a relief to have that over with. Thanks very much for bringing me.”

“Why did you give me the impression that you might have a serious heart problem?” I bit out.

“What? What are you talking about Mara? Always had an imagination. I guess that’s why you write those cute little books.”

“You told me that you were worried about the appointment and asked if I'd take you.”

“I wasn’t worried about the appointment, I was just worried about driving in the city, you know I don’t like to drive in the city.”

“You were sniffing.”

“Allergies.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Sometimes they hit me in the morning. Anyway, if you didn’t want to drive me, you should have said so. I could have driven myself.”

“I need quiet to drive now.”

She responded, but I could not tell you what she said or even what language she spoke, I had retreated that deep into my head. I didn’t remember the drive home, and I remained on autopilot as I pulled into her driveway.

“Want to come in and I’ll make you a coffee?”

“No. I don’t. I don’t want a cup of coffee. I don’t want anything from you right now.”

“There is no need to take that kind of tone with me, young lady. I am still your mother, even if I don’t always want to admit it. I cannot believe you left the doctor’s office like that. Would you have preferred me to be seriously ill? Maybe you’d like it if I had a heart attack and died so you could get your inheritance quicker!”

“I have rarely asked you for anything. The few times I have asked, when things were particularly difficult for Olivia, you were busy. Shopping, playing Bingo, getting your nails done, too sick, or too tired. You always say you’re there to help me, but when the time comes, you never actually are. You have never been there for me.”

It took supreme effort to keep from yelling and keep my voice even. Rage replaced the oxygen in my blood, and it pounded through my veins. I remembered this feeling. I remembered my therapy. I remembered too late to do anything about either. In a way, it turned out to be a blessing. My rage enabled me to say what I otherwise never would.

“How dare you speak to me like that!”

I turned my head to face her. “Hear me, I won’t repeat myself. I. Want. Nothing. From. You. Don’t call, don’t come, stay out of my life.” My voice shook, as did my hands that were still gripping the steering wheel.

“Mara, you’re very uptight. I think you need some help, sweetheart…” She looked at me with her loving concern mask on her face.

“Get out,” I gritted out between my teeth, she opened her mouth to speak again, and I screeched, “GET OUT!”

She dropped the mask. “Fine,” she hissed out, “you always were a selfish child, only thinking of yourself.”

She slammed the car door and stalked up to her porch. I didn’t look at her again, backed out of her driveway, and by the grace of God, I made it home.

Once inside I figured I’d start to feel better, but the world had gone wildly awry. When I looked around, it seemed to take the world a bit to catch up, like in a movie when the mouths are not moving in time with the audio.

Interesting.

I drifted outside of my body and watched myself take out my cell phone and dial my husband.

“Zale?” my voice sounded from far away.

“Mara?” He sounded alarmed. “Are you alright?”

“Zale, I got in a fight with my mom.”

“I’m sorry, baby, what the fuck did she do now? Where are you? Are you driving? Where’s Olivia?” His anxiety snapped across the line.

“I’m home.” I watched, fascinated as my chest heaved in a shuddering breath. “Olivia’s at Dean’s.”

“Okay,” he breathed, relieved. “Can you just relax for a bit? Have a bath and a cup of tea, and we’ll talk when I get home?”

The sudden realization hit me that he couldn’t help me, shouldn’t have to help me, and more, he didn’t want to help me. He tolerated me. I was a huge burden, emphasis on huge. A disaster.

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