Page 57 of The Time It Takes
I hurry away from them, praying no one follows me.
Except, when no one does, it only causes the pain to grow. There’s only one person I want to talk to, and that person is all the way in New York. He would understand or at least I know he would try.
I rush toward the house to call Julian and tell him how—
The thought of him leaves my mind completely when I spot the RV sitting in the driveway.
I WALK INTO THE HOUSE and the sound of the sink running in the kitchen only makes my blood boil more fiercely. I have to take a few deep breaths to calm myself down. My heart’s still thumping, and my head is racing. My mother could not have picked a worse time to stop by. I’m on a war path.
When I step into the kitchen, she is indeed standing in front of the sink, washing the dishes I haven’t had the energy to do. I wait until she turns the water off to speak.
“Mom.” My voice comes out weak.
When she turns around, her eyes gleam with delight and then false concern. “Oh, honey you look terrible!” she practically sings. “Are you not sleeping well?”
“I’m sleeping fine,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes.
She assesses me for a moment. It feels like she’s reading my thoughts. I resist the urge to walk upstairs and lock myself in my bedroom like a teenager.
Finally, she asks, “Did something happen? What’s wrong?”
Without responding, I turn and walk into the living room. She follows me and I plop down on the couch, a breathy whoosh coming out of me. I’m still wearing my bikini but put on a t-shirt I left on the porch for myself earlier and though she doesn’t say anything about dirtying up the couch, she does shoot me a look of distaste.
“I happened,” I say, and it sounds as pathetic as I feel.
Gently, she takes a seat next to me. It’s a little too close for my comfort. “Oh dear, you should know by now that the world does not revolve around you. You mustn't blame every little thing on yourself.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Would you prefer it if I blamed you?”
She goes quiet and I can tell she’s thinking about all the things I could possibly blame her for. For starters, how about being a mother who was too busy cruising around the states to pick up the phone when I started my period for the first time and didn’t know what to do?
What about the time when I lost my last baby tooth and there was no one to place a dollar under my pillow? I was an eleven-year-old who still believed in the tooth fairy. I remember thinking the reason my mother left was because I was a bad child. It wasn’t until I confided in Ben that I found a slice of cake sitting on my pillow when I’d gotten home from school. He told me that the tooth fairy told him that she thought I deserved something more special. What about all the times Ben had to stay home with me instead of hanging out with friends because he was scared to leave me alone?
My mother’s voice comes out gentle when she says, “I did the best I could raising you, Willow.” It’s like she’s trying to convince herself more than me.
I can’t help the scoff that escapes. “If that was your best, forgive me for not wanting to bear witness to your worst.”
Her face becomes hard again and it’s clear I’ve offended her. Good. “Do not turn this around on me. I am a good mother.”
I almost laugh at that. Is she that delusional?
“To who? When we needed you, you were never here.”
“What more did you want from me?”
I laugh this time and it’s cold and bitter. I sit up and glare at her. “I wanted you to love me. My whole life, I only wanted my mother to love me more than she loved being on the road.”
She shakes her head at me in disbelief that I would say such a thing. “We’re not having this conversation. Now is not a good time.” It never is. She stands, smoothing her hands over her blouse. I hate how much her face reminds me of Ben’s.
I fall back further into the couch. “Please feel free to let me know when I fit into your schedule, Mom.”
“Willow, that is enough. What has gotten into you?” she snaps.
Well, let’s see, how about the fact that I fell in love with my best friend, only to push him away like he was nothing? How about losing my brother when he was the one person I always needed most? Or how about all the other shit that killed me the same night the world took him from me?
I huff a breath, begging my voice to remain steady. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just realizing that everywhere has been home to you, but me.”
Her face falls and so do her shoulders. I have to look away from her. I hate everything she reminds me of. “That’s not true. You have always been my home. You are my daughter.”
