Page 11 of The Child of Rue Royale
“Listen, she’ll be a beautiful girl, and the vampire part…well, we are going to hope won’t be a lot, or maybe she will just sparkle like Edward,” Chantal says, her attempt to cut the tension not helping.
“Oh my God, please,” Mother growls, and I swallow because she’s pissing me off.
“Why are you acting like that? Like there aren’t a thousand reasons to be worried?” I ask.
Chugging the rest of her martini, she places it on the table and looks back and forth from Chantal to me. “Because I have no other choice, my baby. All we can do is face everything head-on. I’m not the type to go in circles worrying about something I have no control over.”
“Well, that’s fucking frustrating!”
“Right now it is. But when shit gets real, and when we need to figure it out, I’ll be the one with a calm head. And you sure like that in the moment, don’t you?”
Something about that stings—maybe because she’s right. I can’t pick and choose parts of her l like in certain moments. Her breeziness may annoy me right now, but it’s helpful when life is falling apart.
“Look, I know I’m responsible for all this, but some days…it’s like I can’t breathe from the fear, then other days I’m so full of hope and light for the future.”
“What good does worrying do? Does it help in the moment? No, that’s always been your problem. Worrying about the what ifs, the would haves, the should haves.”
“It’s better than not worrying at all and just doing whatever I want, consequences be damned.”
She looks at me, eyes pained, knowing the implications of my words. She feels judged by me, by her actions. That she left me in charge when I was eighteen and not prepared for such responsibility. How she was able to do whatever she wanted and not worry about the consequences. But that’s because I always carried them for her. And now, I’m not sure how I can keep doing that. I’m birthing the next true witch. How can I carry her consequences and my own?
“You think I was negligent because I left everything in your care. But I’ve told you, I did what I had to do to survive. You’ve always been a better witch than me. You see it, I see it, fuck, my own mother saw it. She told me you were the real deal, you were the one that would save and carry this family—”
“I didn’t want to save and carry this family!” I yell, sliding out of the chair.
“You guys,” Chantal says, raising both hands between us, knowing where this is going.
“You never asked me to take over, you told me I had to.” I stand, pushing my plate into the sink then grasping the counter as if that could ground me.
“It was always meant for you!” she yells, and I spin to face her.
“It was meant for you too!”
“No, no it wasn’t. My mother always told me it wasn’t for me. It was you that would be the strongest.” She stands, throwing her napkin on her plate.
“Grandma told you I would be the strongest witch, so you thought, ‘Well, I birthed her, my job is done here,’ and decided to leave?”
“You were an adult, and I’ve apologized.”
I laugh. Loud and scornful. “Is eighteen really an adult? You resented me, you hated that I was born!” I yell it so loud my ears ring, my heart races, my chest can’t keep up with my breath.
Mother’s rage fills the room as she spreads her arms out on each side, commanding every kitchen cabinet to open, and in seconds, she claps her hands as every cabinet slams shut. It’s loud enough to startle me, to shut me up, and Chantal just shakes her head.
“Please don’t break my cabinets,” she whispers, but her words are ignored as Mother speeds over to me, and when I think she might slap me, she halts with a finger in my face.
“On the day you were born, Grandma told me that I was the vessel for you. That you would be more powerful than any of us could ever dream. She was a Seer with the ability to see visions of the future. And she thanked me for bringing you into this world. And that’s how she saw me. As your carrier. Not her daughter.” Her hand falls as real tears spring in her eyes. The first I’ve seen in ages. Now it’s her whose lungs can’t keep up with her breath.
My tongue freezes, taking in those words, my mind reeling back through memories. The two of them barely speaking, always angry with each other. Grandma, often frustrated with my mother and how she acted. Immature, unpredictable, selfish. That’s how we both always saw her. But if that’s how she was treated, maybe that’s how she started acting.
“You never told me that,” I say, swallowing as she slowly steps away from me.
“I never had to tell you that. You were a child. But couldn’t you feel it? Couldn’t you see it? My mother was mad at me for ninety-nine percent of my life. And the one percent was because I brought you into the world. I was the disappointment. You were my redemption.”
I look to Chantal, who’s crossing her arms, looking at my mother benevolently. When her gaze meets mine, I know. My mom is telling the truth, and guilt pulls on every bone in my body.
“I thought when I had you, she would finally love me for me and be proud that I birthed you. But instead, I kept disappointing her with my failures in being a mother. So I left because I was tired of being a failure.”
“I’m sorry you felt that way,” I say, playing with Bastian’s ring around my neck, the apology not easy for me. I love my mother so much, but my heart still aches from her actions, much like how her heart still aches from her mother’s actions.
