Page 26 of Torrid Love
“Thank you.”
“Other than that, how was it?”
“Soon after that incident, I left. I figured, might as well finish unpacking and do a few loads of laundry.”
“You left a birthday party because you wanted to be on top of your chores or because you were pissed off at Rod?”
“It’ll be crazy when I get back into the swing of things on Monday,” I offer as an explanation.
Isobel doesn’t answer.
The silence between us speaks volumes.
I’m used to seeing a gaggle of star-struck women flutter around Rod. It never used to bother me much. Something shifted between us last Thanksgiving. I can’t put my finger on it, I just know it. Since then, it’s been a constant fight to contain my jealousy when women trip all over themselves. I didn’t come home early to do laundry. I sought refuge in my home and lost myself in housecleaning to exorcise the hurt.
“You don’t want to talk about it?” she asks.
“I’d prefer not to,” I say with a weary sigh.
“How was Europe?”
“It––”
“I really hope a dispute with Rod isn’t part of the story because I’m running out of questions,” she says.
I laugh. “I promise he isn’t part of the Euro equation.”
“Good. How was it?”
“Amazing! All of it.”
“I loved catching the highlights of your trip on social media.”
“I figured it was the easiest way to update everyone since the time difference didn’t play in my favor. And the training was so intense, I barely had time to breathe during the first four weeks. The two weeks trekking around Europe were really fun. I was even able to stop by Croatia to give my good friend Elsa a big hug.”
“How is she doing?”
“She’s a hairdresser on the most popular fantasy serial drama. Too many wigs, too little time,” I laugh.
“In other words, she’s on cloud nine.”
“Exactly.”
“Good for her,” Isobel says. “How was it seeing your mom?”
“Not so amazing. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have bothered.”
For others, seeing their mom after an extended time apart brings feelings of nostalgia, warmth, fuzziness, happy days gone by and excitement. Not for me. Our mother-daughter relationship is a lot more complicated than most. Especially because I still despise my mother for always making me feel like an afterthought. Whenever a new man came into her life, she was always quick to take the shitty boyfriend’s side instead of standing up for her own daughter. And of course, the incessant way she’s so carefully drilled feelings of worthlessness into my psyche for years doesn’t swing in her favor. Nearly a decade apart and I still struggle to shake off her venom.
“Nothing’s changed?” Isobel asks.
“Nope. She’s as cheerful and motherly as ever. Not!” I say sarcastically.
“I thought after so many years she’d be more welcoming.”
“I knew she wouldn’t be. She just isn’t wired that way, Isobel,” I remind her. “Without you and Rory I would’ve ended up homeless, in the social system, or I would’ve been forced to follow my mother back to Europe and live under her miserable cloud.”
Isobel Renfrew and Rod’s older brother Rory have been married for two years now, but they’ve been together forever. Rory is thirteen years older than Rod. He turned forty-one not long ago. Isobel is five years younger. With Rod’s insistence—okay, it’s more like he was a fierce advocate to save me from my mother—Isobel and Rory became my legal guardians. Not long after my fifteenth birthday, they helped me petition the courts for emancipation. Living with my mother was a hell I could no longer endure. A year later, Mom decided the American dream wasn’t for her after all. She scrounged some money, packed her few belongings and moved back to Hungary.
