Page 7 of Caught in Us
I step forward but she waves me off, pointing toward the vacant seat across from hers. “Sit. Please. I’ll get Mari to bring something out.” She rings a bell and not two minutes later, Mari appears in the doorway.
“Yes, Mrs. Martin?”
“Bring out our best bottle of merlot.” My mother glances my way. “We’re celebrating the return of my prodigal daughter.”
Only, I don’t drink. Everyone knows this.
Mari shoots me a concerned stare, but leaves to do my mother’s bidding.
“How’s Dad?”
Her gaze cuts to mine, an icy edge to her stare. “He’s wonderful. The nurses love him. Not surprising. He always did have a way with people.”
“Mom.”
“Where’s Matty? Do I get to finally meet my grandson or did you leave him behind?”
Like I would even consider leaving him. “Matthew is upstairs sleeping. It was a long flight.”
“I assume you brought the boy toy along as well?”
“Mother,” I practically scold. “His name is Simon. Please don’t embarrass me.”
“Oh, I’m embarrassing?” She scoffs. “Is that why you refused to come back here? Or is there something else you’re not telling me?”
“We are not having this conversation.”
“I just don’t understand. Is there something about being home with your own family you can’t bear?”
“Mom. Don’t. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” But that’s only part of the truth. I ran because I was scared. A little lost. I needed space from everything, and yes, the graduate program was important to me. But that’s not why I stayed so long.
“You left when your father was still in the hospital, Alicia. Surely, you could have deferred a year. Under the circumstances they would have understood.”
She’s right, but at the same time a part of me knows I never would have left. It wasn’t as much about losing out on the Master’s program, but losing myself. “I had to go.”
My mother’s glare turns hard. “And I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you for that.”
Her words slice, giving pain to an old wound. The guilt for leaving. The shame for not being a better daughter. But staying wouldn’t have changed anything. If anything, it would have made things worse. Besides, I was dealing with my own shit.
Mari returns with the bottle of wine, already corked. “Pardon,” she says, aware of the uncomfortable tension. “Did you want me to bring this to the dining table?”
My mom straightens her spine and points at the table before her. “No, here is fine.” She doesn’t clear away any of the empty wine bottles, so Mari sets the merlot down and cleans the small tabletop.
My mother doesn’t wait for her to leave the room before filling one of the glasses. She moves to the next glass to do the same. I should ignore her. It’s not as if calling her out will change a thing. Still. It’s so damn frustrating that after everything she still undermines my sobriety.
“I don’t drink. Remember?”
“Oh?” Her gaze lifts, hard and icy. “How would I know? I don’t know anything about you.” She abandons the bottle and brings one of the glasses to her lips, taking in a long sip and not breaking her stare.
I shove to my feet. “I think I’ll go lie down. I’m tired from the flight.”
My mom leans back in her chair, her gaze drifting out toward the wall of windows that showcase the expansive estate. This place used to be full of life, even if it was a little pretentious. My mother used to host fundraisers, lavish parties, and endless social events. But no more. Not since my father’s stroke.
It’s sad that he spent his entire life working and my mother spent hers keeping up pretenses, and for what? They still have the house, wealth, and every extravagance money can buy, but she hides away in this ivory tower refusing to let anyone in. Maybe it’s how she’s able to maintain this state of denial—nothing’s wrong if no one can see it. Must be exhausting playing pretend, though I wonder if it’s second nature to her.
She’s not the only one with secrets to protect. I wonder if my father regrets living a double life, or if he would even apologize if he could speak.
My footfalls are the only sounds as I walk down the empty hall. I stop at his door, unsure whether I’m ready for this. There’s a swirling mix of anger, resentment, and longing I can’t fight. I want to hate him. That would be easier. He had this whole other secret life. Another family. Another daughter. I haven’t forgiven him, but I understand that right and wrong aren’t always black and white. Life is filled with gray, and if anyone can understand that, it’s me. As hard as it’ll be to walk inside his bedroom, it’ll be infinitely harder reuniting with the friends I cut out of my life years ago. I’m filled with my own sense of guilt, shame, for staying away so long.
