Page 121 of Holding Hope

Ayana straightened her back and flickered her eyes nervously to the cameras. “Watch your tongue, this is not the place⁠—“

I released her, the laughter finally bubbling out of my chest. “Exactly! That’s my entire fucking point! It’s never the right place or the right time, never when I need you.”

I needed to keep moving, to keep this momentum going; if I didn’t say this now, would I ever have this courage again?

“Everything is always on your time, it’s always what you and Dad want, but it’s my life⁠—“

“And who do you think gave you that life?” She cut in, taking her own step forward. “Who do you think paid for the art lessons, that never went anywhere, by the way. Who paid for the dance lessons?” She held out a finger and began listing off my many different failed attempts at self expression.

“The ballet lessons you cried through, the culinary lessons that never went anywhere, the trips, the shoes—Avalon, who made it possible for you to enjoy all of those things?” Her finger turned inward. “Me! I gave everything to you; I gave you the very breath you breathe and what do you have to show for it? Nothing.”

I winced, her words sinking and settling deep into my bones and tears stung my eyes.

“You fill your life with trophies won for you by other people, Avalon; you have nothing, you are nothing of your own making.” She laughed bitterly. “There is nothing significant about you but your last name and what do you do? You run off to Texas and embarrass us—the ones who actually put in the work to earn it.”

Each of her words felt like another line across my skin. Another permanent marking on my body; she wanted me to believe her, to believe that I was nothing, I was insignificant and small. Unworthy, unwanted.

But then I thought of Clarke. I thought of Melody, of her resistance and her fight. Her strength. If she could be strong, so could I.

I raised my eyes to meet my mother’s, blinking back the tears that still begged to fall. “I didn’t want any of that, not really. I just wanted your attention⁠—“

“Attention?” She laughed out. “Avalon, all anyone has ever given you was attention! The newspapers, the articles, the posts—it’s all you!”

I stomped at the ground angrily, similarly to Apollo when he was frustrated. “I didn’t want any of that! I wanted yours. Your attention. Dad’s attention. I wanted to be like the normal kids my age and be able to crawl into my parents’ bed and feel safe in your arms. I wanted mother/daughter dates that didn’t end with me being scouted for a different modeling agency. I wanted to be able to cry to you and tell you my problems, hoping you would be able to guide me; but for some fucked up reason, you couldn’t.

“It’s like you’re incapable of being tender, you’re unable to be gentle and for a while, I thought it was my fault. That I was the problem—you were so unhappy with me, regardless of what I did, it was never enough for you.”

I paused, taking a moment to catch my breath. “I was never enough for you—but why should I as a child, why should that have been placed on me? Love has always been conditional and transactional for you; I was your daughter—your only child. Why did I have to buy your love by selling myself?”

Salty tears ran over my lip, and I angrily rubbed them away. I hadn’t wanted to cry, not in front of her, not in front of the cameras.

“The paparazzi and-and the newspapers, that was me trying to get your attention, to get you to see me.”

Ayana huffed although it looked as if she was blinking away her own tears, but I wouldn’t put too much hope in that. My mother had been conditioned to be a statue, a perfect porcelain figure that never showed any emotion. Outside of anger and annoyance that is.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Avalon, I do see you; like you said, you’re my daughter, how could I not see you?”

“Then why can’t you see how happy I am here? Here—I mean something, I’m worth more than just my voice and body.” The Kings saw something in me others never even bothered to try and look for; they saw someone worth including. Someone worth having around.

My mother scowled again, her hand raised in the direction of the farmhouse. “These people don’t know you, Lonny; they’ve had one summer with you—I’ve had twenty-two years with you⁠—“

“You don’t even know me!” I yelled again. “You don’t know of all the times I begged for death; I prayed to die in some excruciating way just so you would finally notice my absence, just so you would finally see me, Mom.”

I could show her my scars, but it wouldn’t change anything if my words weren’t enough. “I don’t want to die anymore,” I continued. “Because I finally found something worth living for, a family worth fighting for—a family that needs me.”

Clarke. Melody. Fuck it, even Colton. They were my family and they needed me. I needed them.

“But you’re coming back to Los Angeles⁠—“

“No,” I laughed, shaking my head and turning back up the driveway towards the house. “I’m not going back to fucking Los Angeles.”

Ayana caught my arm in one last desperate attempt, was she going to drag me all the way back to California? “But it’s your home, Lonny; it’s where you grew up⁠—“

“Clarke is my home, and she is inside that house.” I pried her fingers from my arm. “I’m sorry you wasted a trip, but I’m staying.”

I watched with guilty satisfaction as her face crumpled and her hand fell to her side. “Lonny, please.”

But I kept walking; I would not succumb to her whims, I would not allow her to have any control over my life any longer. She was wrong about me, I wasn’t nothing. I didn’t create nothing. I had simply found the people who took the time to see what I had to offer.