Page 59 of Catch Me
The last thing I want or need is to prove to my parents that I’m the failure they painted me as.
When I glance down at my phone and see my mother’s name staring back at me, my heart lurches in my throat.
It’s been months since I’ve spoken with her.
The idea of ignoring her call comes to mind, but I know it won’t be that easy. Not after going so long without speaking to her. She’ll continue to call, then so will my father. Next, they’llhave Rose do their bidding and may even get Stephen, my brother, involved.
With a deep inhale of courage I don’t feel, I answer, “Mom, I’m just leaving work, can I?—”
“You’ve finally decided to not take the coward’s way out and actually answer my calls?”
I flinch at the frigidity in her voice.
I clear my throat in an attempt to disguise how thrown off I am. She always leaves me off kilter.
“I’ve done no such thing. The last time we spoke, I said that I needed some space.”
“Which is why you ran off in the night like a child?” she accuses.
The honest truth is, she isn’t totally wrong. I waited until my parents went away for a weekend to pack up my belongings and drive across the country from Michigan to California.
All I left behind was a note and promise to call when I arrived.
“What nonsense, Ivy,” she continues. “How much more space do you need when we live in Michigan and you’re all of the way across the country in that horrible city?”
She doesn’t even like to say the words Los Angeles.
“It’s not bad enough that you’ve abandoned your family after all your father and I have done for you, but you fail to call on a consistent basis. What is that about?”
It’s the word ‘fail’ that has my shoulders slumping, in spite of myself. The one word that I fought for so many years of my childhood to avoid.
Failure.
“I haven’t failed.” The words come out with less vigor than intended.
“You could’ve fooled me. Your father and I haven’t heard from you in months. Rose said she called, and you rushed her offof the phone. What are you hiding, Ivy? You can tell me if you lost thatjobyou were going on and on about months ago.”
This makes me roll my eyes toward the sky.
By on and on, I called her and Dad one time to let them know I’d gotten the position at InTuition Pictures, in hopes of … I don’t know what. A congratulations? An ‘atta-girl’?
I shake my head because I should’ve known that would never happen.
Squaring my shoulders, I reply, “I’m still working as the assistant to the assistant costume designer. In fact, I’m just leaving the set right now.”
“Hm.” She draws out the ‘m’ as if pondering whether or not to believe me. “And you don’t suspect that someone with your qualifications should be doing something a little more than assistant to the assistant?
“For goodness’ sake. We spent a fortune on your college and graduate school education. You have an MBA in finance from a well-known university in New York and you’re wasting all of the effort we poured into you to play dress up.”
My hand tightens around the phone, and my body begins to tremble.
Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven …
Mentally attempting to calm myself down from the buildup of familiar tightness inside of my chest, I force myself to remember that my mother’s words don’t have to impact me. Not right now.
Dr. King’s reminders that I’m no longer a child come to mind. I don’t have to subject myself to my mother’s criticisms anymore. Not always will this work on one of my panic attacks, but sometimes it does.
This is one of those times.
