There were lots of things in life I didn’t get. How the universe was formed. How bed bugs can totally wipe out a hotel. Why Romeo and Juliet didn’t just talk it out before they offed themselves. Why needy people fish for compliments on Facebook. But, most of all, I didn’t get why my mother hated me. But, then she didn’t hate me, did she? No, I think it was worse; it was indifference.
Seeing her actually home for once, plus up and out of her room, I figured something major had happened. Had Mona found the china?
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Where’s Dad?”
She shook her head at me and said, “Don’t play the innocent act with me. The school called me today to tell me you’d dropped most of your classes!”
“Oh, so that’s why you came home,” I said, hating the let-down I felt because in the back of my mind, I’d wondered if maybe she’d come home for my birthday, albeit a belated one. “Well, that’s old news. Happened last week. I also quit debate and yearbook, too.”
She glared at me. “And, Emma Easton’s mother woke me up at midnight to tell me you started a fight with her daughter, and you know I play tennis with her mother. She’s the President of the Chamber of Commerce, for goodness sakes! How could you?” She waved her hands at my appearance. “You’re an embarrassment to this family, Nora Grace, and I won’t tolerate it. This all started with the incident, and I’m nipping it in the bud once and for all!”
“What do you mean, nipping it in the bud?” I asked, backing away from her. I didn’t want her to hit me. Of course, she’d never use her fists on me because that would leave bruises. But she could slap with the best of them.
She laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “I’m taking your keys and electronics again. You can stay in your room for a week without speaking to anyone. You will eat and shower in your room as well. Mona can drive you to school. There will be no visits to Portia’s. If you reregister for those classes and sign up for debate, however, I’ll let it all go.” She stood gracefully, looking at me with disdain. “Thank God Finn was an easier child than you. You’re the worst . . .”
“Stop!” I yelled. “You can’t talk to me like that!”
She gasped, surprised at my insolence. “Yes, daughter, I can. I am your mother. You’ve humiliated yourself in front of the entire student body, you’re staying out until all hours, you’re getting in fights, you’re wearing God knows what, and oh yes, you’ve dyed your hair that red color. You look like white trash.”
“No, no, no,” I said, “you’re a control freak who expects everyone around you to be perfect! And where’s Dad? Do you even know what girl he’s with? But wait, you don’t even care, do you?”
She looked down at her French manicured nails. “Our relationship is not your business.”
“You’re never here during the week, and I eat alone, Mother. I walk around this big house, feeling invisible. And why haven’t you asked me why I told them all to fuck off. You don’t ask those questions because you don’t care! You didn’t even call me on my birthday!”
She sneered. “I know why you made a fool of yourself. You did it because you’re ungrateful,” she said, opening the kitchen drawer and pulling out a pack of cigarettes.
What was this? She’d never smoked before. I watched her light one with quivering hands. More secrets. We all had so many secrets.
“I knew I never should have let you take that theatre course at the community college. It’s made your tendency toward drama even worse,” she said, exhaling smoke.
“How would you know if I was dramatic?” I yelled at her, my anger escalating. “You know nothing about my life. You don’t even look at me half the time, much less see who I really am!”
“You’re a sick girl who has to repeat words in her head so she can function.” She took a drag off the cigarette and then pointed it at me. “You’re screwed up . . . that’s who you are.”
I gripped my purse, wanting to run. “Don’t you see that you’ve ruined the person I could have been.” I got my courage up and said the truth. “Mother, I told you when I was fourteen years old that Finn was crawling in my bed at night, forcing himself on me, and you ignored me! It went on for months! You called me a liar!”
“Shut up!” she screamed, but I didn’t stop.
“And now . . . now, you’re telling me he’s coming back to live here! With me alone in this house!” I said, clenching my hands into fists.
She rolled her eyes. “God, just shut up and about Finn! He never touched you. You and I both know you made that up.”
Tears stung my eyes at the pain her words caused. “You’re just as sick as he is,” I whispered.
Her eyes bulged out, and she slapped me so hard that my purse fell on the kitchen floor, its contents spilling out across the marble tile. She bent over and picked up my knife and eyed it warily but sat it back down when she saw my silver case. She snatched it up, popped it open and glared at me. “This, Nora! This is what’s wrong with you! You’re using drugs! You blame everyone else for your problems, when it’s your own fault, not Finn’s and not mine. God, my own daughter is an addict!”