Page 59 of Knot Really Engaged
After a long silence, I decide to ask, “Mom, Dad, I thought you’d be in . . . Where were you going for the second honeymoon?” I ask, my voice tight with tension. I cross my arms over my chest.
“Italy,” Mom responds, her expression guarded. “We didn’t want to go without speaking to you first.” She takes a step toward me, but I give her a warning glare, and she stops almost immediately.
I let out a sigh and begin to apologize, knowing that’s why they’re here. “Sorry for yelling at you in front of your family.” I begin but the words feel hollow, devoid of true remorse. “Lucky for you, I won’t RSVP for the next event. There won’t be anyone to embarrass you.” My tone is sharp, laced with bitterness and hurt.
“Why don’t we go to that coffee shop down the street, Max?” Dad suggests, his eyes darting between Mom and me. “Let them talk.”
When Dad walks by me, he pulls me into a hug. For a moment, I allow myself to lean into the hug. “It’s good to see you, sweetie. Just listen to her, okay?” he murmurs, his voice soft and encouraging.
I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat.As Max and Dad leave, I’m left alone with Mom, the tension in the room palpable. I shift from foot to foot, my nerves frayed and my heart racing.
“It’s hard to be the youngest of sisters,” she starts, her voice tentative and unsure. She wrings her hands. “They can be very judgmental.”
I snort, a humorless laugh escaping my lips. “You’re lucky. Having brothers suck. They stink, leave everything behind, and tease the fuck out of you.”
“Mom always wanted me to be like my sisters,” Mom begins not acknowledging what I just said about her sons. “If I wasn’t everything they were, then I was doing everything wrong.” There’s deep-seated pain in those words.
I know what it means to have to live up to the standards of others and never be able to please them, no matter what you do. It seems like she’s doing that because she learned it from her mother. So this is our generational trauma, huh?
“Your family is toxic, Mom,” I say, my voice softening with a mix of sympathy and frustration. I uncross my arms, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides.
“That’s what Jake told me after you left, and kicked out everyone,” she admits, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She looks smaller, more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen her.
“And yet, you want me to be like them.” The accusation hangs heavy in the air.
“Which was a big mistake, and I never realized I was doing it until you said it yesterday,” she says, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I wish you had said something before or that we . . . I thought we had a good relationship.” Her voice cracks, and I feel a pang of guilt in my chest.
“Good enough until you want me to be someone I can’t be,” I counter, my own eyes stinging with the threat of tears. I blink them back, refusing to let them fall.
“Which is why you never come home?”
I glance around my little apartment, taking in the cozy furnishings and the personal touches that make it my own. “This is home, the place I created to feel safe. I don’t like to visit you because it’s exhausting and so painful.”
She nods, a look of understanding dawning on her face. “I know the feeling, and I hate that I was doing exactly the same thing that had been done to me while growing up. It pushed you to do things you felt obligated to do, so I wouldn’t judge you,” she admits. “It didn’t mean that I don’t love you. I adore you, Audrey. You’re my only daughter and . . . It breaks my heart to know that I’ve been hurting my little girl. I swore I would always protect you and it’s obvious that I’ve been failing you.”
“Failing isn’t the exact word, but hearing that I’m not like Lucy and you wanted me to be like some little robot that does everything her mom wants is just . . .” I trail off, my words catching in my throat. I take a deep breath, trying to find the right way to express the turmoil within me. “Not me,” I finally say, my voice barely above a whisper. My hands fidget in my lap, a physical manifestation of my inner struggle.
Mom’s eyes widen, a flicker of realization crossing her face. “I don’t even think Lucy is like Lucy. She’s probably making things up to keep her mother at peace because that’s what every generation keeps doing.” She sighs, her shoulders slumping with the weight of her own mistakes. “I tried to be loving and understanding, but obviously, I failed.”
I reach out, my hand tentatively covering hers. “I wouldn’t go that far. We do love you,” I say, my tone gentle but firm. I want her to know that despite our differences, despite the hurt and the misunderstandings, my love for her has never wavered.
“You avoid me, and Jacob does too. Max is the only one who—” she starts, but I cut her off, my frustration bubbling to the surface.
“Because you think he’s perfect and can’t do anything wrong,” I say, my voice rising slightly.
Mom’s brow knits together, confusion and surprise written across her features. “I do that?” she asks, her tone incredulous.
“Yep,” I confirm, my lips pressing into a thin line.
“Oh, it wasn’t my intention,” she says, her voice soft and filled with regret. She reaches out, her fingers brushing against my cheek in a tender gesture that catches me off guard.
“It still hurts,” I whisper, not allowing the tears to fall. I need to get through this conversation because if she took the time to get here today, I want to make sure we fix our relationship.
Well not all of it today, but at least we can begin to heal.
“So, where do we go from here?” she asks.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I’m about to say. “You go to Italy, and when you’re back, we go to family therapy,” I suggest, my voice steady and determined. I know it won’t be easy, but I also know that it’s the only way forward.
