Page 52 of Beautifully Used
“No, they don’t. Mothers don’t tell their daughters that they don’t ever want to speak to them or see them again.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry about that. I was hurt. You leaving school like that was a blow to all of our dreams, Gabby. You have your whole future to think of. You have such great potential. I thought you wanted to be a journalist. You know with Kurt’s influence you could have a prime spot on NBC, but you need to have your degree. He can’t work magic.”
“How is Kurt?”
“Oh, Kurt is Kurt. He said to say hello. Anyway, when you stormed off like that with your hot-headed temper, well, I… didn’t know what to do. Cutting you off seemed like the best idea at the time. But Gabby, I miss you.” She looked around the house. “You can’t possibly be happy here in this… place.”
My mother was a tool. A manipulative, snobby tool. I knew she meant well, but damn, I didn’t want to be a newscaster on NBC. “Mom, those are your dreams. Not mine. I don’t want a spot on TV. Not at NBC, not anywhere.”
“Well, you don’t have to be on camera. There are plenty of wonderful positions for journalists.”
“Mom,” I placed my hand on top of hers. “I know this is going to disappoint you, but I don’t want to be a journalist.”
“Of course, you do. That’s what you’ve wanted your entire life. Well, at least since I married Kurt and he—bless his heart—inspired you.”
“He did inspire me. He inspired me to pursue my dreams, but journalism isn’t my dream. It was yours. I want to write.”
“Exactly, honey.”
“No. I want to write novels, fiction. Romance to be exact.”
“Oh Gabby, be serious.”
“I am serious.”
“You can’t be. You can’t make any money writing novels. Look at the Internet. It’s full of starving authors.”
She was exasperating, and had the ability to shoot my dreams down with one sentence. “Maybe it’s not all about the money.”
“Well, whatever else could it be about?”
“Maybe it’s about the story, and the fact that I love to write them.”
“Well, you can do that as a hobby.”
“Mother. I already have a contract with a publisher. They’ve already sent me an advance. My book is due out this fall.”
“Seriously?”
I nodded.
“How much of an advance?”
“Forty thousand dollars.”
“That’s all? Honey, you can do so much better than that working for NBC.”
“That’s just the first book and doesn’t include the royalties. Really, Mother, this is none of your business anyway, but I have a contract and I will be getting much more on the second book.”
She scoffed and waved her hand at me.
“They’ve promised a hundred and eighty thousand for the second book.”
Her eyes lit up like firecrackers. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place? That changes everything.”
I looked at her, unable to refrain from rolling my eyes. She was a piece of work for sure. How quickly she could turn when there was money talking.
“So, you’ll be able to move out of this…” she glanced around the living room, wrinkling her nose in disgust, “… place.”
