“Yes, yes, it is,” I replied flatly.
“How is that wrong?” She threw her hands in the air. “Every mother just wants the best for her child.”
I leaned forward again and slapped my hand on the table. “This is the best. Don’t you get that?”
“You’re selling yourself short, Bryn. You can have so much better.” Mom tried to reach out and hold my hand, but I pulled away from her.
“I can’t do this anymore.” I pushed back my chair and stood up. “I knew coming over was a mistake.”
“Bryn, no.” Her face fell, her disapproval giving way to remorse. “I’m sorry. I promise I won’t talk about work anymore. Don’t go.”
I looked away from her so I wouldn’t get suckered in by guilt again, and ran my hand through my hair. “No, I have stuff I need to do anyway. I shouldn’t have even agreed to this.”
“Bryn,” Dad said.
“No, I need to go.” I turned to walk toward the door, and Mom stood up.
“Honey. Please,” Mom begged. “Don’t go. I love you.”
“I love you too,” I told her without looking at her. “I just … I’ll talk to you later.”
I yanked on my boots and grabbed my coat from the rack. My mom said my name again as I opened the door and stepped outside, but I didn’t look back. As I walked down the dirt road my parents lived on, I breathed in deeply. The cold hurt my lungs and stung my cheeks, but I didn’t mind. In fact, I didn’t even put on my coat, preferring the chill. I just held my jacket to my chest and let the fresh air clear my head.
“Bryn!” Dad called after me just as I made it around the corner past the house.
An errant chicken crossed my path, and when I brushed past, it squawked in annoyance. But I didn’t slow down, not until I heard my dad’s footsteps behind me.
“Wait,” he said, puffing because he was out of breath from chasing after me.
I finally stopped and turned back to him. He was still adjusting his jacket, and he slowed to a walk as he approached me.
“Dad, I’m not going back in there.”
“Your mom is heartbroken. She didn’t mean to upset you.”
I looked away, staring down at the chicken pecking at pebbles in the road. “I know. I just … I can’t deal with it. I can’t handle her criticisms tonight. That’s all.”
“She’s not trying to criticize you,” Dad said.
“I know. It’s just … I work so hard.” I finally looked up at him. “And it’s like no matter what I do, it’s never good enough.”
“No, that’s not true at all.” Dad shook his head adamantly. “Your mom takes issue with some of the practices here. She gets on me about it too. But she knows how hard you work, and she’s proud of you. We both are.”
I swallowed hard. “Thank you. But I can’t go back right now.”
His shoulders slacked but he nodded. “I understand.”
“Tell Mom I’ll talk to her another day, okay?”
“I will,” he said, and as I turned to walk away, he added, “Put your coat on.”