Page 99 of Worth the Try
She’s the reason this matters. I will do whatever it takes to protect this little girl, from now until the end of time. I love Ansel, without question. Wholly and without reservation. But my love for Rosalie is something entirely different, both tender and fierce, and so, so precious. Together, she and Ansel have become the complete center of my world, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Facing everything that Lauren has thrown at us is simply something that has to be done. A gauntlet to run. A mountain to climb. And I’ll do it. No matter the pain, I’ll do it.
Turning and leaving the door open a crack, I make my way downstairs. When I don’t find Ansel immediately on the couch or in the kitchen, I figure he’s probably in the office. I start some coffee and unlock my phone to see what new things the press and social media have to say.
The first thing I see is a short clip of the press release I didn’t watch. In the clip, Ansel scowls at the audience as you hear someone ask,“What about the nanny?”And Ansel’s immediate answer is to dismissively growl,“Whataboutthe nanny?”
Um, ouch.
A new article focuses on my time at Fore Gone, which is new. Seems my old buddy Dan decided he wasn’t on my side after all, not to mention my old boss, hungry for any spotlight she can get. According to them, I was a ‘terrible worker’ with a ‘poor attitude’ and neither seems surprised at my new, gold-digging ways.
Spending days reading lies about yourself is nothing I’d recommend to anyone. But what it has done, remarkably, is honed me. It’s sharpened my focus and made what’s important to me very, very clear. It’s madewhois important to me clear. It’s crystalized a few other things, too.
I take a deep breath and pull my phone out, then press call on a contact I’ve not spoken to in two years.
“Look who finally decides I’m worth talking to.” My mother’s voice, sugared and vicious as always, comes through the speaker. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”
“Hello to you, too, Mother,” I answer. “And how like you to jump right into insults and inferences without so much as a how are you.”
She sighs, and I hear the clatter of her many bracelets knocking against each other as she waves my comment off. “I raised you better than this, Elodie.”
“You raised me like a tyrant,” I interrupt. “You only showed affection when I was winning, and the second I put on weight and stopped winning those ridiculous pageants, you made my life hell.”
“You werefat, Elodie.”
I laugh. “I was a perfectly normal girl, Mother. You weaponized your love.”
“Because you needed discipline!” she shoots back. “I won’t apologize. The only thing I’m sorry for is not being stricter. For God’s sake, look at you now,” shetsks.“Fatter than ever, embroiled in a scandal with a rugby player and trying to insert yourself between a mother and her child, of all things. Just because you can’t have your own children doesn’t mean you steal someone else’s. You should have begged Jeremy to keep you, babies or no babies. Maybe then, none of this would be happening.”
“That’s not what happened,” I say, managing to keep my voice even.
“Oh, so every single news article is lying?”
“Yes!”
“Please.” The way she dismisses me cuts like a knife.
I shouldn’t have called. I thought I could confront her and walk away without injury. But it’s impossible to maintain the shield I’d constructed. Not when every word out of her mouth seems tailor-made to strike true.
Tears streak down my face as I stand in the center of the kitchen, one arm wrapped around my waist as I press the phone to my ear. She’s still talking, but I stopped hearing it.
“We’re done.” My voice is flat, dull.
“Excuse me?”
“Until you can be nice to me, we’re done,” I repeat.
“Absolutely not,” she says. “You owe me. You need to talk to the pageant commission and tell them?—”
A harsh laugh escapes. “You honestly think I’m going to help you? Go to hell, Mother.”
And with that, I end the call. Before I can overthink it, I block her number.
Beside me, the coffee maker beeps merrily, announcing that coffee is ready. I stare numbly at the phone in my hand, then set it on the counter and push it away.
“Well, that could have gone better,” I mumble to myself. I have a feeling that I need to spend some quality time digging through the trauma my mother inflicted. Time on my own and with a therapist. But right now, I’m going to tuck Mother into a tight little box with aDo Not Opensign on it and take care of the people I love.
With two mugs of coffee in hand, I make my way to the office. Sure enough, Ansel is there, and he looks up as I enter.
