Anchor Me
Page 58
I’m not so foolish, though, to think that the mother in my imagination is Elizabeth Fairchild. But even so, there’s a tiny little bud of hope growing inside me, and I don’t know whether to nurture it or crush it under my heel before it once again grows thorns.
“You sold your house,” Damien says, presumably to fill the silence that is starting to grow. “Have you moved to LA?”
“I have,” she says, then offers me a picture-perfect smile again. “I’ve been here for a while.”
“Where are you living?” he presses.
Mother looks annoyed, but she smiles prettily. “I haven’t settled yet. Right now, I’m in a small rental in a darling section of the Valley.”
He nods as if she’s said something fascinating.
I assume he’s just trying to be polite. I’m much bolder. “You’ve been watching me,” I accuse.
Her fingers twist in her lap. “Yes, well, you must admit that our last time together didn’t end well. I was afraid you wouldn’t want to see me. But I very much wanted to see my little girl. I wasn’t certain you’d noticed me. I hope I didn’t disturb you?”
“No,” I lie, fighting a frown, because she might be telling the truth. I sent her back to Texas before our wedding, making it perfectly clear that she had no business meddling in my life. “Not in the least.”
Mother clasps her hands in her lap. “Yes, well, despite everything, I had to come. I’m of an age now, you see. And one thinks about such things.” She looks at Damien, and her voice trembles as she speaks. “I want very much to repair my relationship with my daughter.”
She looks down, and in the brief moment that I can see her eyes, I think I see tears.
My stomach clenches, and I think of Sofia, who I believe, and my mother, who I want to believe, but I can’t quite make the leap.
“I don’t want to disturb you,” she says. “I know how much your work means to both of you, and it’s the middle of the day. I just wanted to say that I’m here. And I wanted to give you this.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a small box, then hands it to me.
I open it and find a familiar gold necklace with an engraved charm hanging on it. A heart with the initials NLF.
“You’re still my little girl,” she says.
“I remember this,” I say. “I thought it was lost.”
“It’s been in my jewelry box for years,” she says lightly, as if I should have thought to look there when I was nine and had believed the gift from my sister had gone missing. “You refused to take it off even for school. We couldn’t let it get lost, could we?”
I feel a slow burn begin inside me, and I clench my fist tightly, letting my fingernails dig into my skin. I’d been frantic about that necklace, which I’d believed really had been lost. I feel wrong and unbalanced, and I know that without Damien beside me to hold my hand and keep me centered, the first thing I’d do after my mother left, would be to find a blade and cut until this horrible feeling flows out of me.
I stand quickly, scared by the direction of my thoughts. “I—I should get back to work.”
My mother’s brows rise, the silent equivalent of an order.
“Thank you for the necklace,” I say dully.
“Walk me to the door, sweetie,” she says, then looks at Damien. “You don’t mind, do you?”
It’s clear that he does, but I just nod, signaling that it’s okay, then fall in step beside my mother.
“You must know that things happen for a reason,” she says as we pause in the open doorway. “Babies take so much time, and we both know how selfish you can be about the things you want to do.”
I just stare at her.
“Now, Nichole, you know I’m right. You mangled your own body simply because you wanted to inconvenience me.”
I stand frozen—stunned by her words. Inconvenience her? I was drowning in the pageant life. Forced to be her wind-up toy, her performing monkey. I’d begged to stop, begged to cut down to only one pageant each year. Begged for any kind of relief she’d allow me, but she’d denied me everything.
I’d already started cutting by then—it was the only way to hold onto my sanity. To keep myself anchored to the ground and not flying off into some horrible, melancholy nightmare. But I’d been careful, never using a blade where it might be revealed in an evening gown or a swimsuit. Because I knew what the fallout would be if my mother learned of my weakness.
Finally, though, I’d had enough. And when I knew that I simply couldn’t take it any more, I’d taken a blade to flesh that would be exposed. My hips. My thighs. The worst is on my inner thigh—a still-angry scar from when I cut too deep and, frantic, had rendered my own First Aid with superglue, duct tape, and an Ace bandage.
That was the end of my pageant career. And, as far as my mother was concerned, a huge affront to her reputation and social standing.
“But, of course, you’re very successful,” she continues calmly, as if she’s not tossing words out like grenades. “Your business. Your rich husband.” She leans in to kiss my cheek, and though I cringe back, I’m stopped by the doorframe. “Just remember what happened to Icarus when he flew too close to the sun. Maybe losing this baby was your way of crashing back down to Earth.”
I want to lash out—to tell her she’s a fool and wrong and a terrible excuse for a mother.
But I can’t find the words. All I can think of is how much I craved the blade over the last few days. How much I wanted the release it would bring. How much I needed it to get me back to center.
And so I just stay quiet. Because if she’s telling me I have no business being a mother, then she just may be right.
24
Damien rests his hands on my shoulders as the door closes behind my mother. Slowly he begins to knead my muscles, and I sigh, wishing he could squeeze out every bad feeling she’s left inside me. “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asks.
I close my eyes, from both the ecstasy of his touch and the agony of her parting words. “Yes. No. Later.” I draw a breath. “It’s just my mother. Just the usual.”
He stops massaging. “Are you sure?”
I keep my back to him, because if I turn around, he’ll see fresh pain in my eyes, and we’ve both suffered too much already. “I just want to get back to work,” I say truthfully. “I don’t want to think about her another minute.”
“You sold your house,” Damien says, presumably to fill the silence that is starting to grow. “Have you moved to LA?”
“I have,” she says, then offers me a picture-perfect smile again. “I’ve been here for a while.”
“Where are you living?” he presses.
Mother looks annoyed, but she smiles prettily. “I haven’t settled yet. Right now, I’m in a small rental in a darling section of the Valley.”
He nods as if she’s said something fascinating.
I assume he’s just trying to be polite. I’m much bolder. “You’ve been watching me,” I accuse.
Her fingers twist in her lap. “Yes, well, you must admit that our last time together didn’t end well. I was afraid you wouldn’t want to see me. But I very much wanted to see my little girl. I wasn’t certain you’d noticed me. I hope I didn’t disturb you?”
“No,” I lie, fighting a frown, because she might be telling the truth. I sent her back to Texas before our wedding, making it perfectly clear that she had no business meddling in my life. “Not in the least.”
Mother clasps her hands in her lap. “Yes, well, despite everything, I had to come. I’m of an age now, you see. And one thinks about such things.” She looks at Damien, and her voice trembles as she speaks. “I want very much to repair my relationship with my daughter.”
She looks down, and in the brief moment that I can see her eyes, I think I see tears.
My stomach clenches, and I think of Sofia, who I believe, and my mother, who I want to believe, but I can’t quite make the leap.
“I don’t want to disturb you,” she says. “I know how much your work means to both of you, and it’s the middle of the day. I just wanted to say that I’m here. And I wanted to give you this.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a small box, then hands it to me.
I open it and find a familiar gold necklace with an engraved charm hanging on it. A heart with the initials NLF.
“You’re still my little girl,” she says.
“I remember this,” I say. “I thought it was lost.”
“It’s been in my jewelry box for years,” she says lightly, as if I should have thought to look there when I was nine and had believed the gift from my sister had gone missing. “You refused to take it off even for school. We couldn’t let it get lost, could we?”
I feel a slow burn begin inside me, and I clench my fist tightly, letting my fingernails dig into my skin. I’d been frantic about that necklace, which I’d believed really had been lost. I feel wrong and unbalanced, and I know that without Damien beside me to hold my hand and keep me centered, the first thing I’d do after my mother left, would be to find a blade and cut until this horrible feeling flows out of me.
I stand quickly, scared by the direction of my thoughts. “I—I should get back to work.”
My mother’s brows rise, the silent equivalent of an order.
“Thank you for the necklace,” I say dully.
“Walk me to the door, sweetie,” she says, then looks at Damien. “You don’t mind, do you?”
It’s clear that he does, but I just nod, signaling that it’s okay, then fall in step beside my mother.
“You must know that things happen for a reason,” she says as we pause in the open doorway. “Babies take so much time, and we both know how selfish you can be about the things you want to do.”
I just stare at her.
“Now, Nichole, you know I’m right. You mangled your own body simply because you wanted to inconvenience me.”
I stand frozen—stunned by her words. Inconvenience her? I was drowning in the pageant life. Forced to be her wind-up toy, her performing monkey. I’d begged to stop, begged to cut down to only one pageant each year. Begged for any kind of relief she’d allow me, but she’d denied me everything.
I’d already started cutting by then—it was the only way to hold onto my sanity. To keep myself anchored to the ground and not flying off into some horrible, melancholy nightmare. But I’d been careful, never using a blade where it might be revealed in an evening gown or a swimsuit. Because I knew what the fallout would be if my mother learned of my weakness.
Finally, though, I’d had enough. And when I knew that I simply couldn’t take it any more, I’d taken a blade to flesh that would be exposed. My hips. My thighs. The worst is on my inner thigh—a still-angry scar from when I cut too deep and, frantic, had rendered my own First Aid with superglue, duct tape, and an Ace bandage.
That was the end of my pageant career. And, as far as my mother was concerned, a huge affront to her reputation and social standing.
“But, of course, you’re very successful,” she continues calmly, as if she’s not tossing words out like grenades. “Your business. Your rich husband.” She leans in to kiss my cheek, and though I cringe back, I’m stopped by the doorframe. “Just remember what happened to Icarus when he flew too close to the sun. Maybe losing this baby was your way of crashing back down to Earth.”
I want to lash out—to tell her she’s a fool and wrong and a terrible excuse for a mother.
But I can’t find the words. All I can think of is how much I craved the blade over the last few days. How much I wanted the release it would bring. How much I needed it to get me back to center.
And so I just stay quiet. Because if she’s telling me I have no business being a mother, then she just may be right.
24
Damien rests his hands on my shoulders as the door closes behind my mother. Slowly he begins to knead my muscles, and I sigh, wishing he could squeeze out every bad feeling she’s left inside me. “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asks.
I close my eyes, from both the ecstasy of his touch and the agony of her parting words. “Yes. No. Later.” I draw a breath. “It’s just my mother. Just the usual.”
He stops massaging. “Are you sure?”
I keep my back to him, because if I turn around, he’ll see fresh pain in my eyes, and we’ve both suffered too much already. “I just want to get back to work,” I say truthfully. “I don’t want to think about her another minute.”
