Page 23 of There's No Us Without You
Before I change my mind, I type out a message.
Me: Fine. Twelve o’clock. Normal place.
Bitch: See you then.
When I arriveat the restaurant, Mum is sitting at our usual table by the large window in the front right-hand corner of the building. It’s a small café-style setup, with large blue umbrellas shading the outdoor seating and an expanse of windows allowing plenty of natural light to filter inside.
Mum always says she likes the warmth at the front without the risk of sunburn. My take on that is she just needs to warm her cold-blooded heart.
We’ve been having weekly lunches here since I moved in with Kent. My mother likes to keep up appearances—she doesn’t actually enjoy my company.
I straighten my shoulders and smooth down my hair as I walk over to where my mother is seated. Knowing she’d scrutinise my attire, I dressed in the only other outfit she would approve of—a pair of dress pants and a loose navy-and-white striped top.
I’m not sure why I care so much about what she thinks of my choice in clothing. Old habits, I guess.
“Sweetheart, there you are.” Mum stands to air-kiss my cheeks, her expensive perfume irritating my nose. “I see your life circumstances haven’t affected your appetite.” Stepping back, she scans my body with those emotionless, dark eyes of hers.
I thought she’d at least let me sit down before she started with the insults.
“Listen, if you’re just going to insult me”—my chest tightens as I fight the urge not to go for the jugular—“there are plenty of other things I’d rather be doing.”
“Oh, Eden,” she says, motioning to the seat across from hers, “don’t be so dramatic. None of this would have happened if you’d just listened to me. You know I only want the best for you, darling.”
The exit is only ten metres away. I could leave right now.
Except, I don’t.
Instead, I do what I always do and let my mother dictate my actions. She watches me as I take my seat and fold my arms over my chest. Her attention has me twitching and glancing down at my shirt to make sure there are no wrinkles as I chew on the inside of my cheek. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth seconds later. Fucking hell, I’m doing physical damage to myself because of this woman.
I take a deep breath and let it out to a count of five, allowing my shoulders to relax.
Mum eventually pulls her focus from my face to pick up her menu, her painted-red lips pursed while she glances over it as though she’s not going to order the same thing as every other week.
Poached chicken and salad.Hold the dressing,darling.
I almost laugh at myself. I’ve mastered the art of impersonating my mother’s voice. At least in my head.
When Mum places the menu down, she motions to the one on the table in front of me. “You aren’t going to order?”
“I’m not hungry,” I say, picking at a loose thread on the white linen napkin holding my cutlery.
My handbag is still slung over one shoulder, which should tell my mother everything she needs to know—I have no intention of staying.
Mum flicks her medium-length dark hair behind her shoulders and taps a manicured nail on the table as she blinks slowly at me. “Right,” she says after a long moment. “I guess I should get to my point, then.”
I roll my eyes and sink into the chair. “That’d be great.”
“Eden Florence Reeves.” Mum glances around to make sure no-one is watching us, before leaning closer. “What is with this attitude?” Her eyes are wide, a small vein in her forehead throbbing.
A group of four older women to the right of our table—all dressed up, their hair dyed to cover the greys—are deep in conversation, totally unaware that only two metres from them sits the wicked witch of Sydney.
Now it’s my turn to slow blink at her. “You’re kidding, right? Pretty sure screwing my fiancé on my wedding day would warrant me havingattitude,” I say, air-quoting the last word.
“Look...” Mum grips the sides of the table while forcing a fake smile onto her face. “I get you’re upset about what you saw, but it meant nothing. Wedding jitters, cold feet, whatever you want to call it. Kent came to me for advice, and things just... happened.” Sitting back, she clears her throat and smooths down the front of her silk blouse.
“And the times before that, did they mean nothing also?” I’m just guessing here, but when my mother looks up again, she becomes unnaturally still, her eyes averted over my shoulder.
Why am I not surprised?
