Page 90 of Wildly Inappropriate

Sam and I walk into the house, planning what we are going to order for dinner, since he only knows how to make smoothies and takeout is how I cook. Since I started the medicine, or maybe it’s the therapy, I haven’t felt quite so apathetic, so Sam and I have spent a lot of time hanging out, swimming in my pool, and playing golf on the three-hole course I have in my backyard.

“Knock, knock,” I hear my mother call from the front of the house, and my spine straightens. I’m not ready to deal with my mom. Dr. Burbanks and I have barely scratched the surface of everything—how am I supposed to know what to do with this woman who elicits such a tangled web of emotions within me?

“It’s unbecoming to have so many packages on your front porch, JT. Have you considered what your neighbors will think?”

Sam’s leaning against the white marble island in the kitchen, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his joggers, but I can see the annoyance on his face already. “You want me to get rid of her?” he asks.

Yes.

“No. I’ll go talk to her. You can stay here if you don’t want to come say hello.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with her.”

“She’s my mom.”

“She’s a bitch.”

“Oh, hello, JT.” Patricia Johnson walks into the room, her heels clicking as she moves off the runner in the hallway and onto the hardwood floor in the kitchen. “Sam.”

“PJ,” Sam says with the fakest smile you’ve ever seen, not bothering to stand up straight to say hello.

My mother’s eyes turn into slits at the nickname, one she never has—and never will—go by. “I thought you were the virtual kind of assistant.”

“And I thought you were a marginal parent. Turns out, you’re a shitty one, so I guess we were both wrong.”

Mom stares at Sam as if she’s trying to piece together what he just said, or maybe how he had the balls to say it to her, but in true Patricia Johnson form, she chooses to simply ignore him. Instead, she turns her anger in my direction. “I’ll tell Jon to start searching for a new assistant for you.”

“No. You won’t.”

My mom’s eyes widen in shock, and if we’re being honest, I feel similar. I think this might be the first time I’ve ever openly disagreed with my mother. Adrenaline starts working its way through my system from either the freedom of speaking my mind or the fear of what it means that I did, and it compels me to keep going. “While I appreciate everything you and Dad have done to get me to this point, things need to change. My team is mine. You will not try to fire my employees or even contact them in any way. My plane is mine. You are not allowed to use it for your personal travel. The airport and pilots will all be made aware of the change.” I’m on a roll now, my confidence increasing with each boundary I set for myself. Doctor Burbanks is going to be so proud of me.

“My house is mine. You are not welcome here unless I invite you over. I’m getting the locks changed, and I won’t be giving you a key. You will also be taken off my list of guests at the front gate. You can have them call me should you ever be invited back.”

My mother’s posture is rigid, her arms crossed, hip jutted to one side. “Is this how you are going to treat me? Do you realize the things I gave up for you?”

“I do.” I hear Sam’s snort of derision, but I know my mom truly does feel like she gave up the best years of her life—her dreams of fame and stardom—for me. Just because she was the one who ultimately made the decision doesn’t change that. “But I also realize you are currently a negative influence in my life, and I need to enforce boundaries with you to stay healthy.”

“Enforce boundaries…you’re…you’re seeing a therapist now?” Her tone is dripping with disgust as if she just found out I was spending my afternoons rolling around in piles of dog shit and then licking myself clean.

Sam practically snarls at the condescension in her voice, moving toward her. “All right, Mommy Dearest, time for you to fuck right off.”

She doesn’t acknowledge Sam, her eyes traveling from my toes to the tips of my short hair, her eyes narrowing even further as she realizes for the first time that my hair is buzzed.

“You don’t mean that, JT. Do you?” Her eyes water, and one tear falls. “After everything I’ve given up, everything I’ve sacrificed for you?”

My willpower starts to fade, my mom knowing just the right words to say to make me question everything I’m doing. I can’t kick her out of my home or my life. I know Doctor Burbanks suggested holding strong boundaries, but I can’t do it.

“You wouldn’t cut me off,” she continues. “Especially if you pull your funds from our firm, how will we get by?”

I clench my fists, keeping my face neutral, but her words hit somewhere deep, somewhere familiar. That old place of feeling guilty, feeling wrong, like I’ve somehow failed just by playing the sport my dad wanted me to dedicate my life to. But today…today, something feels different. Her words don’t cut as deeply as they once did. I don’t feel the urge to shrink under her gaze or justify myself.

Instead, I feel a strange, quiet anger—a boundary forming, maybe for the first time.

“I’m scheduled to be in New York next week for my friend’s fashion show, and your secretary over here suggested I flycommercial.” My mom waves her manicured fingers at Sam.

“That will be terrible, I’m sure. Unfortunately, I am currently tight on cash, as I just had to bail my parents out of years upon years of debt and extravagant spending habits.”

She pauses, her mouth opening slightly as if to argue, but she’s thrown off balance by my response. It’s clear she expected the usual apologies, the scrambling to meet her expectations. But I’m tired. Tired of bending myself over backward trying to make up for something I never asked them to give me.

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