Page 92 of Unruly Obsession
She half smiles, then releases it, as if realizing for the first time that she doesn’t have to pretend that everything’s okay.
“He was a good man once,” she says wistfully. “At one point, I thought I was doing the right thing by staying, so you children wouldn’t feel his wrath as it became worse. I told myself at times that it wouldn’t happen again. Then I came to terms that his outbursts only happened now and then.”
“By outbursts, you meanabuse, Mom. He was an abusive drunk.”
The way she’s looking at me, it's as if I’ve slapped her in the face. Her mouth opens and closes, like she's unable to find a response. Perhaps a week ago, I might’ve been gentler with my words, sympathetic almost, but it’s time we took accountability for the blatant truths.
“I was scared the night your boyfriend hit him.” I don’t bother to correct her about Lorenzo and me no longer being together, because were we ever? “But I’d be lying if the thought of finally being free didn’t go through my head,” she admits.
My stomach drops as I acknowledge the same type of sadistic guilt I hear in her voice.
“Why didn’t you ever leave him?” I repeat. “And don’t say it was for us kids, because we both left this house a long time ago. Why did you choose to stay with him for all these years?”
I don’t know why it’s so important for me to know, because in my heart of hearts, I stayed, not yet ready to let go of the idea of the father he could’ve been, but mostly because I was too frightened to let my mother go.
It was only a few weeks ago that I pulled her aside in these very same gardens when Lorenzo ambushed our family dinner, asking her if she was okay—if my father had stopped. She denied knowing what I was talking about, as if I were the one going mad.
My mother sighs and wrings her hands. “I’m not brave like you, sweetheart. I was scared of what would happen if I ever did. I’ve only ever known this life. I was scared he’d not only take it all away but ruin any chance I had of a future, even if smaller in comparison to all of these things.”
My mother is materialistic to a degree; I suppose we all are. It’s part of the reason why I thought she might’ve stayed, but I realize now her fear ran deeper than mine.
“I only ever let myself steal moments of happiness with Bentley over the years. I even considered running away with Bentley once. He promised he had enough money set aside so we could run away and have a simple life.” She laughs to herself. “At the time, I thought it was such a pipe dream, and I made him promise to look the other way when your father became…unpredictable. Ironically, now that the house is mine, I’m not so sure I want to live in it anymore. Maybe I want that simple life now.”
She stares at me, as if expecting guidance. I thought she was so devastated by the loss of my father, but this whole time, much like myself, she’s been battling with how to free herself from his ghostly clutches.
“We could sell the house,” I suggest.
“You and your brother wouldn’t mind?” she asks, sounding surprised.
I scoff. “I’d much rather see this house burn to the ground than you be left in it for another day. I just want you to be happy, Mom. I think it’s time we looked for our own happiness. Don’t you?”
Her shoulders shift, the noticeable tension she’d walked out with slowly receding. As I look at her, I see the woman who raised me years ago. The woman who used to play with me and my brother in the backyard as children, chasing us as if there were no worries in the world, until we realized the only concerns we had were the ones within the walls of our home.
If Bentley can encourage a rosy-cheeked version of my mother to rise to the surface once again, then they have my blessing.
“Are you happy, Lily? Is the flower shop really what brings you joy? I always thought the reason you opened it was for me, not because you actually wanted it yourself.”
My eyebrows shoot up. I'm surprised she’s so bold to say it finally. I lean back, weights evaporating layer by layer and freeing me.
“I did open it for you. I loved spending time with you in the garden. Even when I went to college, I knew I didn’t want to go into the corporate world like Vince and Dad. But then I made it my own. It wasn’t just for you. It was for me too.”
“And now?” she carefully asks.
Isn’t that the question?
I can be anyone and go anywhere.
This city that I once loved so much seems so small, or maybe I no longer want to be hidden amongst the masses and the chaos.
“I don’t know, but I’m working on it,” I admit.
The years of suppression and fear have been liberated from my mother in the matter of a week, but there are glimmers of the old her. The one that inspired me as a child. The one who laughed freely and danced on occasion.
The one who was radiant and smiled, not because society and my father told her to, but because she had something to look forward to.
With that knowledge, a certain peace finally begins to settle within me, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I can breathe.
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