More specifically, my mom.
“Um… Well, my dad wasn’t around. He left before I was born. I know his name, but…” I shrug. “I never wanted to meet him. I never really understood that urge. He abandoned me from the start, so why should I chase him?”
“I see.” My therapist makes a quick note, and I fight the urge to ask her what she’s writing. “And what about your mother?”
“Um… We don’t talk much anymore,” I admit, as I reach over to pluck another tissue from the box at my elbow and use it to daub at my eyes. At least my new waterproof mascara, which we’re launching widely next week, seems to be doing its job. There’s not a smudge out of place, despite my tearing up this whole session. I smile at the tissue for a moment, before I realize the therapist has asked another question.
“Why is that?”
“Well.” I clear my throat. Where to begin with Mom? “She can be… pushy. She has a really specific way she wants me to lead my life, and if I don’t live it that way…”
“What way is that, exactly?” The therapist nudges her glasses further up her nose.
I squint past her at the clock. Fifteen minutes left. I can get through this. I let out a sigh. This is what Becky meant, when she told me she was proud of me for doing the work. Confronting these emotions. Actually talking everything through.
It’s called work for a reason, Becky told me this morning on the phone, when I called her on my drive over here, anxious about yet another session of getting my head poked around in.
“For one thing, she never had a job. Or at least, not one that lasted more than a month or two. She tended to live off of the guys she was dating. First my dad, and then when he split, there was a whole string of them… Most only lasted a couple years at a time, until Rick. They were actually married for five years. He was pretty well-off, so the divorce gave her a chunk of change to support herself for a bit until she met the next guy. She was always pushing me to date guys with money, telling me that working for yourself was a sucker’s game.”
“I see.” My therapist finally stops writing in her notebook to look at me. “So the relationship pattern you saw the most when you were growing up wasn’t perhaps the healthiest, would you say that’s accurate?”
I laugh. “That’s putting it lightly.” I chew on my lower lip for a moment. “I never wanted to be like her. As soon as I graduated, I started working on my business ideas, so I could support myself. It’s why, when I first met Norman, I didn’t want anything to do with him. I was convinced if I dated some rich guy, then… well, I’d wind up like Mom. She never seemed like she was dating these guys. It was more like she was… taking care of them. Doing everything for them, in exchange for access to their bank accounts. You know?”
“And you didn’t want that for yourself.”
“No.” I shake my head hard. “I wanted something real. But Norman…” I shrug. “He met Mom a couple times, and I think after that was when he got convinced that I was doing the same thing. Trying to use him. I tried to show him I wasn’t. I tried to show him how much I really cared, but we always wound up fighting about money anyway, about how my business wasn’t doing well, and without him I’d be out on the street, and shouldn’t I be more grateful and just give up that work and take care of him instead…” I squeeze my eyes shut.
“So, in trying to avoid the patterns you saw your mother falling into, you actually recreated them?” My therapist keeps her voice neutral, but I hear judgment in it anyway.
Or maybe that’s just me judging myself and projecting. “Yeah. I guess.”
“Does your mother ever act this way with you, or is it only with the men in her life?”
I press my lips together to stifle another laugh. “Oh, yeah. As soon as she realized Norman and I were together, suddenly she started calling me all the time, talking about how broke she was, how she couldn’t pay her rent, she was going to be evicted. I fell for that once or twice when I was fresh out of school, begged Norman to help me help her out. Until I visited and found out she wasn’t behind on rent at all; she’d just wanted extra cash to splurge on some designer shoes. And of course, when he found out, he blamed me for being soft and an easy target…”
“How long has it been since you last spoke to your mother?” My therapist peers at me over her glasses.
I shrug. “A couple of months.” My stomach tightens. “Actually, she tried to call me last week.” Right after my TV interview segment went life. It might be a coincidence, of course. Or it might mean she’s realized I’m finally starting to get successful in my own right, and she’s looking for an easy influx of cash again.
“And you avoided her call?”
“Is that bad?” I meet my therapist’s gaze, feeling guilty.
But she just smiles, reassuring. “It’s not about whether it’s good or bad, Cassidy. You have every right to set boundaries with other people, even—and perhaps especially—with relatives. If talking to your mother isn’t something you want to do right now, you don’t have to.”
“But…” My stomach knots even worse. “I mean, shouldn’t I? Isn’t that something you’re supposed to tell me to do as my therapist, to like face my fears and stand up for myself or something?”
She chuckles under her breath. “Is that what you want me to tell you to do, Cassidy? Is there something you’ve been wanting to say to your mother that you’ve held back?”
“Well… I mean.” I shift on the couch. “I guess I want to tell her about my company. I want her to be happy for me. I just don’t also want her to start begging me for money all the time again.”
“Could you tell her that upfront, so that you both have the same expectations going into a conversation?”
“What, ‘Oh hi, Mom, I’m not giving you any money, but I made some finally’?” I laugh. “You can’t just say that to your parent.”
“Why not?” The therapist arches an eyebrow.
I blink, thrown. “I mean…” To be honest, I’ve never thought about being that straightforward with my mother. Or with anyone, honestly. When I was a kid, anytime I was too honest about what I really thought with Mom, it tended to get me in trouble. If I didn’t like her current boyfriend, she’d tell me I had to suck it up and learn to like him because he was paying our bills. Hell, even if she asked for my opinion on a dress she was wearing, if I didn’t say it looked amazing, she’d accuse me of thinking she was fat and I was trying to make her feel insecure.
Talking to my mother has always been like navigating a field of landmines. So, after a while, I just stopped trying to cross the field.
“I guess I just figured she’d get too upset if I said that,” I reply, after a long pause.
“It’s understandable to want to avoid a situation that would upset both of you,” my therapist replies.
“So I shouldn’t call her back,” I say.
She laughs. “I can’t tell you the right answer, Cassidy, because there isn’t one. It’s a decision you’ll need to make for yourself, whether or not you want to open that door. But either way, you should know that you have every right to set boundaries with your mother. Boundaries that make you comfortable.” She glances over her shoulder, and then leans forward in her seat. “I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for today, but I think we made progress, don’t you?”
I smile and nod. But this session has left me feeling even more confused than ever. Could she be right? Do my relationships with guys stem from how I watched my mother behave as I was growing up?
If so, maybe I should call her. Just to try to untangle these messy feelings. After all, she only lives a couple hours away now. Opening the door a little bit isn’t going to be like before. She can’t barge in and take over my life again the way she has in the past.
My brow furrows as I trudge out of the office. My stomach is already in knots, but I’ve made my decision. By the time I reach the ground floor of the elevator, I’m at peace with it. I pull out my phone and scroll until I find my mother’s name on
my missed calls.
She tried again last weekend, but she didn’t bother to leave a message. It seems she’s learned by now that I don’t usually listen to them. They’re always not-so-subtle requests for money, anyway.
I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. Then I hit dial.
Mom answers on the third ring. “Cass, honey! I’ve been trying to reach you for ages,” she coos, in a tone that tells me she’s already had at least one drink today.
I check the time on my phone just to be sure, but yep, it’s barely after 2pm on a Tuesday. I wince. “Hey, Mom. Sorry I haven’t called in a while. Things have been pretty busy here.”
“I’ll say!” she exclaims. “I was calling to tell you I saw that interview you did on TV. You were amazing, honey! I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I keep my tone level, cautious. Although I’ll admit, it does feel good to hear her say that.
“And let me guess,” Her voice turns a little teasing, “you haven’t even properly celebrated yet, have you?”
“Sure I have!” I retort. But then I think about it. Have I, really? I went to the spa with Becky the one day, and promptly made myself nervous again about five seconds later. Aside from that, I’ve spent all my time working. At least, all my time that I’ve not spent in therapy or trying my best to forget about Lark. “Kind of,” I add, and on the other end of the line, my mother lets out a knowing sigh.
“Tell you what. Why don’t I come by? We can go out for a nice meal, maybe see a movie or something. My treat!”
My eyebrows shoot skyward. Whatever I’d expected to hear from my mom after that TV interview, it wasn’t this. Guilt settles heavily into my stomach. Maybe I’ve been unfair. Maybe I’m the one who’s been stuck in the past, remembering how my mother used to treat me when I was younger. Who knows, maybe she’s changing too. Turning over a new leaf, the same way that I’m trying to.
A smile drifts onto my face as I cross the parking lot toward my car, the phone tucked against my shoulder. “Yeah,” I say slowly. “I’d like that, Mom.”
“Great! Tonight work?”
I laugh. “You really want to drive all the way here tonight?” It’s at least two hours, if she manages to leave before rush hour, which I’m pretty sure at this rate, she’ll get stuck in.
“Of course! It’s been too long since we’ve had mother-daughter time. I’m on the way now, honey.”
“Okay. If you’re sure. Then let’s do it.” We talk for a few more minutes, making plans for where to meet in a few hours’ time. By the time I hang up, I have a genuine smile on my face. After a moment’s consideration, I shut my phone off. I’m feeling good right now, and I don’t want that bubble to burst if I get more work emails or something else flooding in.
Tonight, it’s all about me and Mom. And that’s all I need for right now. Something simple and good.
23
Lark
Her phone goes straight to voicemail. Again. I stare at it for a moment, wait all the way until the beep before I finally disconnect. What I have to tell Cassidy can’t be done over a goddamn answering machine.
I need to speak to her, face-to-face. I need to see her. I’ve waited to do this for long enough. Left her hanging in uncertainty for too long already.
I grit my teeth, staring at my useless phone for a solid minute before I come to a decision. If I can’t reach Cassidy right now, that’s all right. There’s still one more confrontation I need to get out of the way before I really lay everything bare to Cassidy anyway. And it’s a fight I should have finished a long time ago now, if I’m honest. Cassidy is just the push in the right direction that I’ve needed all along. A reason—the ultimate reason—to tie up my loose ends once and for all.
Unlike Cassidy, Sheryl answers on the first ring. “Darling,” she says, her voice a low purr, the same way she always says that, even though I’ve been asking her to stop it for months now.
My jaw tightens reflexively. I can’t believe I used to find that endearing. Her tone sounds so fake to me now, so transparent. “We need to talk,” I say.
“About what?” Still that lighthearted, innocent tone. As if she doesn’t know exactly what I’m about to say.
“I want to finalize it.”
There’s a long, weighty pause on the other end of the line. At least she doesn’t ask me what I mean. Part of me expected her to stay in denial right up until the bitter end. “We’ve talked about this, Lark.” When Sheryl speaks again, her cutesy tone is gone. She’s all business now. “It’s not in either of our best interests.”
“Actually, I think it would be in both of our best interests. Don’t you want to start fresh, Sheryl? Find someone who can actually give you what you’re looking for?” I glare at myself in the reflective glass of my apartment building.
“The last thing I want is to start over at my age, Lark,” she snaps. “And I can’t believe you’re still talking about doing this, after all the work we’ve done in therapy.”
“You know the only reason I signed up for those sessions,” I bite out, my voice dropping. “I’m done doing this. I’m done pretending. Sign the goddamn papers.”
She laughs. Actually laughs. “Fat chance. I know what you want, darling. And unless you’re okay with giving it up, then face it. I’m going to get what I want eventually.”
“What you’re asking is unfair,” I reply, trying to keep my voice as even as possible. Calm and collected. Even though my pulse is beating hard, and I swear a vein at my temple is about to pop.
“Not according to our pre-nup, it isn’t,” she says in a sing-song voice.
I clench my fist around my phone. “This isn’t the situation we were anticipating at all, and you know it.”
“Too bad. It’s the situation we’ve wound up in, darling. So if you want to end it, fine by me. You already know my price. Otherwise? Well, just think about it. What I’m asking for isn’t so bad, darling. We’ve been there before. We made it work, once.”
“That was before I knew who you really were,” I reply, unable to help rising to her bait.
All it earns me is another long, low laugh. “Please. You liked my ambition when we first started dating, Lark. You should have known this is what it entailed. You should have known I wouldn’t give up on us without a hell of a fight.”
“There is no us anymore, Sheryl. There hasn’t been for a long, long time.”
There’s a pause on the other end. A faint intake of breath. I think maybe I’ve finally hit a nerve. But then her voice drops again, dangerously low. “It’s that new investment isn’t it? The Marks bitch. She’s exactly your type. Doe-eyed and dumb.”
“Don’t talk about her like that.” I scowl at my own reflection.
“Not denying it, are you? Interesting. I wonder what she’d say if I told her the truth about us.”
“You’ve done enough damage already, believe me.” I shut my eyes. I need to stop giving her a rise. I need to stop letting her get under my skin so easily. “Just sign the goddamn papers Sheryl. I’ll have the lawyer bring them by your office tomorrow.”
“Then I’ll see you in court the day after tomorrow,” she retorts. And I know exactly what she’ll be gunning for.
“You know what?” I’m at the end of my tether. “Fine. Let’s play this out. But you leave Cassidy out of this, or believe me, I will make it a thousand times worse on you.”
“As if you have the guts,” she hisses, just before I disconnect the call.
It doesn’t matter. Sheryl doesn’t matter anymore. She’s my past. Even if it ruins me to claw my way free from her, I’m going to do it. Because I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t dance on her leash. Not now that I’ve met Cassidy, now that I’ve tasted what true happiness could be like.
Whatever happens now, whether she accepts me or not, I’m choosing Cassidy. If I wind up alone and heartbroken, at least I can say I gave it my all.
I shove my phone into my back pocket and stride across the apartment, grabbing m
y coat along the way. It’s time to make this right, once and for all.
24
Cassidy
I stare across my wine glass at my mother, on the opposite end of the restaurant table. Behind her, the lights of the city glimmer. We’re on a rooftop, one of the slightly bougie ones in midtown that I’ve never actually been to before but always wanted to try.
Between us on the table are two finished plates of steak. The portions were, naturally, ridiculously small. But the food was delicious. And at least the sides had a bit more meat to them—metaphorically speaking, anyway—so I’m decently full. And it feels nice. It feels good, to reconnect.
We’ve spent the whole meal catching up. Mom told me some hilarious stories about a guy she was dating for a few months, a firefighter in her town who sounds like he was more entertaining than an actual prospect. But at least he’s got a real, regular job. He’s not like her usual types. It sounded like she actually had fun with him, even if it was only for a little while.
It also sounds like she wasn’t actually using him for cash.
“So, what are you doing these days?” I ask her, because she just ordered us another bottle of one of the mid-range wines to split, and I can’t help it. Even though she told me on the phone it would be her treat tonight, I can’t shake the sneaking suspicion that there’s something else she wants. That this is some kind of setup.
How terrible of a daughter am I? whispers a voice in the back of my head. That I’m suspecting my own mother of setting me up, just because she invited me out to a nice meal.
God, maybe my head really is messed up. Maybe I don’t have any idea how to trust anyone, anymore.
“Oh, you know.” Mom waves a hand, grinning at me over the rim of her wine glass. I really don’t, actually. “This and that, trying things out, seeing what I enjoy.”
I run my tongue along the inside of my cheek, resisting my gut instinct, which is to keep pressing her until she admits she’s unemployed, yet again. Maybe you’re leaping to conclusions, Cassidy. Before I can actually reply, though, Mom leans forward, setting her glass back down.
Best of Penny Wylder: Boss Romance Page 32
