Page 62 of Flame
She groans. “Are you sure? This seems so barbaric. And the fact that it was your father who put you in this position infuriates me.”
“Well, the infuriation line starts behind me.”
“I am so sorry, Bianca.” She pauses. “I just want to put this out there—if we lose Brewer Sports, we’ll survive. We don’t need the money, and our portfolio is—”
I stop pacing. “That’s not the point.”
She doesn’t speak and waits for me to expound.
“Obviously, we don’t need the money. It’s the principle of the matter. And I would rather sell it for pennies on the dollar than hand it over to the Downings.” I grit my teeth.I will not let Dad win this one. “And it’s personal for me at this point.He wagered my marital status, Mother. He hinged his hideous plans on something so private. And don’t think it’s a coincidence that it was whether I was married and not Gannon or Ripley. He thought he could manipulate me like he does every other woman in his life—no disrespect intended.”
“It’s the truth either way.”
Sadly.
My heart hurts for my mom. She’s been pushing forward every day—one foot in front of the other—to clean up the mess her husband made. I hope one day she can stop, pause, and have the space to find what makes her happy. I don’t think she’s been happy in a long time, and that breaks my heart.
“Is there anything I can do?” she asks. “I feel so helpless. I want to go to war for you, baby girl, but I don’t know where to start.”
I sit on the bed again and consider her question.
Can she do anything? No.
Would I want her to do anything if she could? Also … no.
I ignore the swirling sensation in my stomach and focus on the wall across the room. “This is probably going to sound like I’m having a stress reaction, but … I’m okay, Mom. I’m really okay, I think.”
Her tone softens. “Do you want to talk about anything?”
I read through the lines. And I can’t help feeling like a little girl for a beautiful split second.
Since graduating from high school, my mother and I haven’t discussed anything besides business. I can’t recall having anything other than a superficial conversation with her about men, feelings, or face creams. She’s been a great mother in many ways, and I don’t blame her for the lack of depth of our relationship. I’m just as much to blame. I’ve spent my whole life following in my father’s footsteps and neglected … everything else. It wasn’t until he was unmasked, and I saw the destruction his choices have had on his life and ours that I paused to take stock of my own life.
And realized how unhappy and unsatisfied I really am.
I’m unsure what will make me happy and satisfied, but if this conversation indicates anything, getting to know my mother better would be a good start.
“One day, Mom, I’d love to talk about many things,” I say. “When we have time to sit down and have a drink and really have a conversation.”
“I’d like that, too.”
My heart swells.
“Can I come to the wedding?” she asks.
“It’s just going to be a quick, little thing with a preacher. Nothing fancy. If you’d like to come, I’d love that. But you should probably check with Jason first. I’m supposed to be laying low.”
“I didn’t think of that. I’ll definitely check with him. But I cannot imagine you getting married and not being there.”
“At worst, we can video call with you,” I say. “I know it won’t be the same, and I want you here, too. But it’s not a real marriage, so …”
My face falls, and I’m not sure why.
“Bianca, I’m getting a call from Jason. Let me take this, and I’ll call you back this evening, okay?”
I nod. “That’s fine. I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too. More than you know.”
