Page 40 of Shattered
“Couldn’t you have called?” she whimpered. “Warned me so that we didn’t wait there for an hour?”
“I didn’t think I had to.” She sniffled. “You stopped taking my calls a long time ago. I figured you deserved the same courtesy.”
She bawled then. Inconsolable tears that heaved her shoulders up and down, her skin turning into a splotchy mess. She threw herself at me, nearly knocking me over. Who knew that a woman half my size could throw her weight around like a bowling ball? My chest tightened. I didn’t want to touch her. But Beth was still my mother, and when her chin trembled against my shoulder, I instinctively rubbed her back.
“I’m a terrible mother,” she cried. “You should never have let me in here!” I hadn’t let her in; she had invited herself. “I don’t deserve you.”
I sighed and continued to rub her back. The truth was that all I had wanted for so long was a family that accepted me for me. I tried so hard to be what my parents wanted me to be, only for them to cut me off when I finally chose something for myself. The ache to believe her was growing, because I desperately wanted to hold onto something real.
But it could never be real.
Could it?
“I want to support you. Really support you.” She grabbed the sides of my face, making me look into her eyes. “I haven’t been there for you. Haven’t seen the real you. My beautiful, strong, smart daughter. I want to do right by you.” Her eyes widened, and she slapped her hands together. “I have it! An art showing. I can convince the headmaster’s wife. Cheyenne runs a gallery here in Sage City. We can host it there.”
I blinked. It seemed too good to be true. “Really?” I asked.
“Yes, really. Why?”
I wrinkled my brow. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch.” She folded her arms. “This isn’t much, but maybe it will mold a better future for us.”
My own showing in Sage City was a dream, but it seemed like it couldn’t possibly be real. “You don’t want me to go to med school or get my teaching certification as a trade-off?”
“Of course not.” She gestured upstairs. “We’ll put together your best work. Bring it down here, will you?”
I set up my paintings, including the serpent tree from the night before. She studied them with care, giving each piece enough time to truly dissect it.
“You’re brilliant,” she said to herself. “How did I miss it before?”
I clutched my belly, trying to remind myself that this was too good to be true. She studied the paintings as if she were a curator, rearranged them on the ground, putting them in order of appeal, mumbling about organic interest and theme. Many of the chosen paintings were of the coast, the ones I had painted to sell to the club members. But I thought the serpent tree was one of the most interesting. I nudged it towards her pile of favorites.
“That one?” she asked.
“I finished it last night.”
She shook her head. “It’s too conventional. Too modern. Like punk rock graffiti or something.” She scoffed. “These ones are your best chance of securing a client.”
As if she suddenly knew the world of art.
Beth motioned me towards the kitchen to fetch her a glass of water. I complied without a grunt of disapproval. After I poured, Iris texted me:Kendall’s first night is tonight.
I had forgotten about Kendall. She was the new belly dancer, hired to replace Haley, the server I had defended from Aldrich. Iris and Kendall had a history, though I wasn’t sure of the exact details. What I did know was that Dahliaknewthat Kendall had screwed with Iris in the past, and Dahlia hadstillhired her. Dahlia didn’t care about Iris, who had saved Dahlia’s ass time and time again for years now.
There was no loyalty to Dahlia. She only cared about money.
You working tonight?I responded.
Nope, Iris sent.Can I come over?
Please do. Save me from my mother.
She sent that she’d be over in an hour, and I used that as an excuse to get Beth out of the house. Beth rambled about securing the best possible weekend for my opening, and I thanked her, trying to suppress my happiness. She hugged me then, right before she went through the front door, and I hugged back.
Iris pulled up in a beat-up car. “Whose car is that?” I asked, gesturing at it.
“Teagen,” she answered. “She’s working tonight. Your place is nice.”
