Page 92 of Some Like It Scot
I stiffened at her utter dismissal of Brett’s abilities. Surely she knew her own son well enough that he’d never drop everything to pursue his art. He had a family to provide for. But if his plan to move away from a higher cost of living to try to save money and heart in the long run... “Mom, I think Brett’s old enough to figure out what he and his family need most.”
“No, he’s not. He’s always been led by his desire to paint and it just won’t amount to anything.”
“You told me travel writing wouldn’t either, and look where I am now.”
“Yes. Look where you are now.” Her voice edged with familiar disapproval. “Having your name maligned for all the world to see. If you’d just pursued nursing like I’d recommended early on, then you wouldn’t have to worry about those things.”
Sarah’s goal. To be a nurse.
Another thing I failed to accomplish, among the dozens of expectations Mom placed on me in Sarah’s shadow.
“Nursing was Sarah’s dream, Mom. Not mine.”
Silence greeted me. I’d mentioned her name. The one we didn’t mention. The one our family hid beneath the grief and unspoken memories as if she never existed. But we all knew. She had lived. She’d breathed and laughed.
But two weeks after her death, Mom stripped the house clear of any trace of Sarah, except for her bedroom. Every picture with Sarah in it, every award or medal, all took up a new space in Sarah’s room, like a little shrine that no one visited or talked about but everyone knew was just behind a closed door.
“Nursing was your dream. Don’t you remember? You used to try and treat your siblings’ wounds?”
Sarah.
I was usually the one she was treating. “That wasn’t me, Mom.”
“Of course it was. You were top in all the science classes.”
How many times would I have this conversation with her? Me and science had a really bad teenage relationship. “Mom, I barely passed my science classes in school.”
“Why are you contradicting me? Are you trying to upset me?”
I pinched my eyes closed.
I couldn’t change her.
It wasn’t my fault.
“I’ve gotta go, Mom.”
She huffed. “Of course you do, but will you at least talk to Brett about what I said?”
“I’ll talk to him.” And boy, would I. He understood.
“Good. And I do hope you’re able to clear up the mess about your online presence. You know that everyone at the club follows your journey and wants to see you succeed in the best way.”
I stared at my reflection in the mirror, one eye with mascara, one without. Both watery. The mantra had helped a little, and usually I shrugged off her ridiculousness. Ignored the hurt. But the brokenness in our relationship felt bigger today.
What I really wanted at this moment more than anything was a mother who’d just take me in her arms and love me as me. Not as the memory of someone else. Not as the “reputation keeper.” Not as the “good girl.”
But me, in all my messy, ridiculous self.
And if I accepted that I couldn’t fix my mom, then I had to accept the fact that my wish would never come true.
“Bye, Mom.”
It took me too long to pull my mind from the residual foggy effects of my conversation with Mom. And I almost canceled attending the MacKerrows’ church.
Because I could just run away and hide. Stay safe. Disappear.
But my heart ached for light. For Mirren’s companionship and Lachlan’s teasing and Graeme’s smile and God’s hope more than the desire to turtle up under the covers and cry for a few hours.
