Page 14 of Shattered Chords

Right, try not to be when your kid’s room looks like a fetish dungeon.

I tore my gaze from the screen and stared at the lonely swing on the opposite side of the yard. Inside, Ally was rummaging around in the kitchen. Silverware clanked. The refrigerator door slammed. Two minutes later, she showed up on the terrace with a plate in her hands and a sour face.

I set my phone on the table, screen down. My daughter didn’t need to know her mother had been eyeing Dante Martinez. It was improper.

We didn’t speak at first. Ally was still pissed at me for something I couldn’t figure out, and I was too tired to argue. She ate quietly. Like a little bird, the tips of her hair brushing the glass tabletop. I could barely hear her breathing behind the chirping of the crickets and the low rustle of the leaves in the trees surrounding our house.

“Ally,” I said, pouring myself more wine. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

She continued to torture her chicken, eyes glued to her food.

“I’m not the enemy here. I know you think I am, but trust me, I’m not.” I took a small sip of my drink. “I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret later.”

She lifted her gaze from the plate and stared at me. “Is that what I am to you? A regret?” Her words sliced me open.

“God, no!” I sat the glass on the table and reached for her hand, but she jerked it back. “Where’s this coming from?”

“You don’t let me do anything.”

“What are you talking about?” I was at a loss. The fact that I’d drunk half a bottle of wine didn’t help. Fuzz filled my head. “You wanted a soundproof room. You have it. You wanted to pierce your nose. You got your wish.”

“Then why can’t I have a boyfriend?”

Ah, that’s what it was.

“We already had this conversation, Ally,” I said firmly, reclining against the woven back of my wicker chair. “You’re fifteen.”

“Everyone at my school is dating.”

“Well, you’re not everyone.”

Ally released her fork and stared into the distance, frustration gathering in her green eyes.

I liked to think of myself as an understanding mother, so I waited for her to form her thoughts into words, but she didn’t. The silence between us deepened.

“Remember we agreed that we’d always talk about the things that bother us, Bug?” I asked after a long pause.

“What’s the point if you’re not listening to me?” Ally finally responded, her voice shaking.

“That’s not true. I listen, but tattoos and boyfriends at fifteen isn’t a good idea.”

“Well, I’m not you.” She pushed her plate away and rose from her chair. “I know to use a condom.”

Shock rendered me speechless and a cold shiver zipped down my spine. I took a moment to process what my daughter had just said. By the time the information settled, Ally was long gone.

Aggressive music welcomed me as I knocked on her door minutes later. We’d been through this multiple times. She was upset and didn’t plan on speaking to me tonight.

Fine. Be that way, I thought, making my way back to the terrace to grab the dishes. My head was starting to hurt.

The noise in Ally’s room stopped shortly after I finished cleaning the kitchen. My attempt to talk to her again wasn’t fruitful.

In my bedroom, I positioned myself in front of the vanity mirror and scanned my reflection with a critical eye. My mother was a health freak. Growing up, I’d often wondered if she was secretly training me for a beauty pageant. In a way, I was thankful for the discipline she’d drilled into me, but at the same time, my hate for her had become stronger with each passing day. She’d set the bar too high. She’d turned me into a perfect young woman who only wanted the best, a young woman who never settled for less, a young woman who kept her shit together through the wildest of storms. Until one night when that young woman became tired of being flawless and snapped.

And now she was alone, with a teenage daughter, waiting for something to change.

It’s your own damn fault, Camille,a voice in my head said as I stared at my reflection.

Wrinkles.

---