What am I supposed to do with my life? This job at the variety show isn’t working out like I thought it would, and I’m feeling more and more insecure as I make already beautiful women even more beautiful.
It’s taken a huge hit to my self-confidence. I look at myself in the mirror and hate the woman I am, hate the worry lines I’ve developed, and the weathered look in my eyes.
Colby, he’s . . . he’s everything I could have ever asked for in a man. He tries to lift me up rather than bring me down, but I don’t know if it’s enough. And Korea? What the hell am I supposed to do with that? I desperately want to jump on board and say yes, let’s go, let’s do this. But I’m already lost. I still don’t know who I am, where I’m going with my life, and I don’t know if living in a completely different environment like Korea is going to improve my mental health.
And I know my mental health is at an all-time low. It’s been at a low ever since I left Colorado Springs. I know I have Colby in my life now and I should be ecstatic, but there are some unresolved issues deep in my soul that plague me every damn day of my life, issues I can’t seem to get past, issues that are causing me severe mental distress. And it all stems from one person.
The woman who will be here any moment.
I left Colby’s house this morning, early enough, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before taking off. He wasn’t very happy I didn’t wake him up, but I wasn’t ready to start talking, to have a conversation about what to expect today.
There is a knock at my door and my stomach immediately sinks.
Looking at the door, my body is stiff, and I’m unable to move. I don’t know if I can do this.
My mind goes to the little girl in middle school, her belly hanging over her jeans, and her mom poking it as she walks by, telling her to eat fewer potatoes and more carrots.
Another knock.
I nervously stand, the option not to answer becoming more and more like a reality. If I’m really quiet, maybe she won’t know I’m here. Then again, my car is out front, and she most likely saw it.
I twist my hands together and take a step toward the door, scanning my room again to make sure nothing is out of place.
Another step forward. Adjust my dress and run my tongue along my teeth.
Another step. Scan the mirror, one more look.
Makeup is good. Hair is good. Dress isn’t too revealing, but shows enough of my flat stomach I don’t believe I’ll be criticized. I can do this.
With one last deep breath, I open the door . . . and there she is. My mom, standing on the other side, polished and perfect.
My mom has never been known to wear mom jeans, yoga pants, or sweats as regular attire. She’s always in a pair of slacks or a dress with a matching cardigan, jewelry, and shoes. She spends a good portion of her morning getting ready for the day and doesn’t remove her look until she’s about to climb into bed.
She’s the epitome of perfection. Fine, smooth skin, bright blue eyes, and perfectly highlighted hair. Her yoga has kept her body slim and trim, and her many facials have kept her looking incredibly young. At this point, I’m pretty sure we could be considered sisters.
The short straps of her purse rest on her forearm, her hands clutched together, and her lips are pursed.
She hasn’t changed a bit.
“Hi, Mom.”
Not even hiding it, she gives me the anticipated but loathed once-over, assessing me. I don’t fidget, I don’t hide, and I sure as hell don’t lower my chin. I keep it at an even level, as I hold on to the door for support, trying not to show how nervous I feel.
“Ryan, it’s nice to see you.” She leans forward and pretends to hug me as she taps me on the shoulder. Standing straight again, she takes in my tiny apartment and says, “Shall I come in?”
“Sure. It’s not much, but it works for now.” I step to the side and watch as her judgmental gaze begins her inventory.
“You’re sleeping on an air mattress?”
“Yeah, just until I find a new place and can get a bed.”
She nods and keeps her hands at her sides while she takes in my camping chairs and lack of kitchen.
“Well, it seems like you’ve been living the best you can given what you have.”
Is that a compliment?
“But we can’t possibly have a conversation here in camping chairs. Shall we get lunch?”
No, we shall not. How about instead, you go home and I crawl into my bed? How does that sound?
“Sure.” I grab my purse and keys. “Anything you have in mind?”
We walk out of my apartment as my mom holds her stomach. “Something nice.”
And with that, she leads the way to the parking lot as if she’s lived here as long as I have. Phone in hand, I check it real quick, catching a text from Colby. Since I’m behind my mom and she can’t see me, I read it.
Colby: Wanted to let you know I love you and I’m here for you.
I press my lips together, my emotions getting the best of me as I realize he’s by far the best man I’ve ever met, kind and caring . . . and moving in three weeks.
If he were here, I know he would protect me from my mom. He would boast about me, and tell her how amazing I am, because that’s what he tells me almost every day. But he’s not here because I didn’t invite him, too nervous that my mom would embarrass me in front of my boyfriend.
We spend the next ten minutes not really speaking to each other but driving to the restaurant as my mom looks out the window. Occasionally I see her nose lift in disgust from the corner of my eye. Las Vegas is not a place I could see my mom enjoying. She’s not a snob, but she doesn’t agree with the vibe of Las Vegas, I know that for a fact. More of a health nut, this isn’t the place for her.
I take her to a restaurant I know has a variety of salads she’ll appreciate. The mood in the space is dark and sleek, something she’ll like as well, and I see her approval as we make our way to a booth toward the back of the restaurant.
Folding her napkin on her lap, she adjusts her silverware, and then takes a look at the menu, her lips scrunched up as she peruses. I already know what I’m getting—the kale salad with no dressing. It’s not even close to my favorite, but I refuse to give my mom an opening to make any sort of comment toward my eating habits. Not today.
Once we order, my mom getting the same thing as me, and settling for water with lemon, she twists the glass and then folds her hands together. “Care to explain why you chose not to visit with your mother when you were in town?”
It was only a matter of time before she asked, and I’m surprised it took her this long. I’m also a little annoyed she decided to do it in a public place.
And honestly, I don’t have a good answer other than the truth. I glance at her and for the first time in my life, I feel like telling her the truth. What do I have to lose? I already despise everything about her. She’s made it impossible to be confident, to love my soul, so why not set her straight? The worst she can do is blame everything on me, and it’s not like that’s going to change anything. She’s made it clear I’m beneath her, uglier than her, and completely less than her in every way. Why the fuck am I holding back?
I’m at my lowest. Rock-bottom. How much lower can I go?
“Why didn’t I visit with you?” I take a deep breath and look her in the eyes. “Because I didn’t want to.”
Caught off guard, she leans back and says, “Why?”
Staying poised, hands on the table, I say, “Do you remember the first day of sixth grade when I split my pants? I bought a Juicy Couture track suit, ready to wow everyone at school. I worked hard that summer to lose weight and did everything I could to get ready for that big day. I walked into school feeling confident despite your attempt to make me change.” She stares at me, arms crossed now, not making a sound. “I was humiliated when my pants split in the back, so humiliated that all I wanted to do was crawl in a corner and never see the light of day again.” I pause, letting that sink in. “And do you know w
hat you said to me when you brought me a replacement pair of jeans that day? Do you remember what you said to your pre-teen daughter who was suffering from social anxiety and humiliation?”
Chin level, she says, “I don’t recall.” Translation? I couldn’t give a shit.
“Well, I do.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “You said, I told you not to eat all those cookies this summer.”
She scoffs. “I would never say such a thing.”
“So are you calling me a liar? Because I have a whole fucked-up memory box of every shitty thing you’ve ever said to me stored and ready to unleash.” I tap my temple. I try desperately to stop the reel from showing, but I can see it all. Every sneer, every look of scorn, and every sense of failure. I won’t even begin to think about prom. You would have thought I’d have been prepared for her contempt for that wardrobe choice, even though I’d lost weight by then. But no.
My mom shakes her head dismissively. “Ryan, watch your language. This is neither the time nor place to be talking about something like this.”
“You brought it up.” I’m having a hard time controlling my voice. “You’re the one who wanted to know why I didn’t visit with you. Well, it’s because I didn’t want to be told how I can be living my life better, how I can style my hair better, how I can lose those extra pounds. I didn’t want to be told why I’m not perfect in your eyes one more time.” Tears start to well in my eyes, and I attempt to tamp them down, not wanting to cry in front of my mom.
“You’re being dramatic, Ryan.”
“I’m being dramatic?” I point to my chest, the first tear falling from my eye. “I’m telling you the truth. Ever since I can remember, you have criticized me about my weight, constantly told me how I couldn’t eat the things I was eating, berated me for my hair, for my makeup, for my clothing choices. You made me feel so bad about my body that I wouldn’t hang out with friends in fear they thought the same thing about me. You didn’t let me be a little girl.” Another tear that I quickly wipe away. “Young girls are impressionable, and the only reason why I didn’t harm myself was because I had a loving father—”
“Who encouraged your terrible habits.” She sits back in the booth completely unapologetic and unwilling to let anything I’m saying penetrate. And that’s when I realize the undisguised truth. No matter what I say, no matter how blue in the face I get from telling her story after story of the many times she emotionally destroyed me, she’s not going to change. Or accept any responsibility. There is no relationship here, and there never will be.
Pressing my lips together, I bring my purse close to my side, ready to bolt. “You know, I have a boyfriend—”
“For how long this time? Two weeks? They come and go like the seasons with you, Ryan. You need to stop trying to be someone you’re not.”
“Someone I’m not? Are you kidding me right now? I’m trying every goddamn day of my life to figure out who the hell I am, because your parenting repressed the person I’m supposed to be. I have no idea who I am, because I’ve been chasing after the image of a daughter I’ve been incapable of being for my entire life. I am the way I am today because of you.”
I stand from my booth, tossing my napkin on the table, not caring if anyone is listening in.
“Sit down,” my mom says through clenched teeth.
“Because of you, I can’t be the woman my man deserves. Because of you, I will always think I’m less than what I am. And because of you, I can’t move on with my life the way I deserve to. You’re an awful human being, a terrible mother, and an absolute bitch. You want to know why I didn’t visit you while I was in Colorado? Because I couldn’t even bear to look at your face. That’s how much I despise you. Hope you have a hotel booked and know how to use Uber, because I’m out.”
Without another look, I walk out of the restaurant on an adrenaline high that I know is only going to crash and burn later tonight. I should feel liberated. I should feel fucking free. But I don’t. I feel sliced wide open.
I am nothing.
Because of that bitch, I am nothing.
No one.
A disappointment.
* * *
Air mattress is in the trash can.
Camping chairs are folded up.
Boxes are packed and in my car.
And the apartment is clean.
I glance around the space one last time, remembering the good times I had in this little sanctuary. The laughter, the love, and the sex with the one man I’ve only ever truly loved. It was a good little apartment, but it’s time to leave.
With one more parting glance, I shut the door, turn in the keys to the leasing office, and head to my car, a heavy heart in my chest and determination to change for the better.
As I approach my car, I see a figure around the back, startling me, until I realize it’s Colby in his flight suit, aviators blocking his deep, trusting eyes. Eyes I can’t look into right now. Or maybe never again.
Head tilted down, I make my way toward him and stop a few inches short.
He’s the first to speak. “So that’s it, huh? You were going to leave without talking to me?”
This is going to be the hardest part of my decision, but even if he can’t understand it now, maybe he will at some point.
“Stryder call you?”
“Yeah, he did. In the midst of taking care of their newborn baby girl, Stryder called me and asked if I knew you were moving in with them. And yet, my girlfriend, the one actually moving, couldn’t bother to answer me the past two days or talk to me about what she was planning on doing.” He runs his hand through his hair. “What the fuck, Ryan? I thought we talked about this. I thought you weren’t going to run anymore.”
“I was on my way to your place right now to talk to you.” And that’s the truth. I wouldn’t have left without talking to him. Not when he’s been my rock for so long. He’s been my everything for so long.
“You were on your way? What about talking to me before you packed your boxes? What about shooting me a quick text to let me know that you’re okay, that your mom didn’t completely destroy you? What about common courtesy or a heads-up that you planned on leaving, so I didn’t rush over here in a panic thinking you were leaving without even saying a goddamn word to me?”
“I was afraid you were going to convince me to stay.”
“You’re damn right I’m going to convince you to stay.” His anger starts to evaporate as he takes his glasses off and puts them in his pocket. His eyes are bloodshot. Guilt instantly consumes me. “Ryan, I don’t know your reasons for moving back to the Springs because frankly, you won’t talk to me, but what I do know is I love you, and I want to be here for you. I want to hold your hand when you’re sad and celebrate you when you’re happy. I don’t have a choice in what happens with my life, but you have a choice. Be with me, please. Don’t run.”
And this is why I didn’t tell him, because I knew he’d make it exponentially harder.
“Colby.”
He shakes his head. “No, I can see it in your eyes. You’ve given up on us, haven’t you?”
“Colby, you deserve so much more than what I can give you.”
“Bullshit. You fucking know that’s bullshit.” His anger appears again, this time both his hands pull on the back of his neck as he looks toward the sky. “You are what I want, what I crave. I don’t care about whatever baggage you’re carrying, because it doesn’t affect how I see you. How I love you. What I care about is you and keeping you in my life. Fuck, Ryan, don’t you see? I’m desperately in love with you, and I would do anything to make you realize that. Don’t leave because it’s getting tough.”
“That’s not why I’m leaving.”
“Then why are you fucking leaving?” His hands fly out to the side. Because I’m not enough. And I want to be.
I chew on my bottom lip and strain myself to hold back the tears. I hate feeling like I’m yet another woman walking away from Colby’s love, because his love is all-encompassing. Pure. The
best sort of love.
But I need to learn to love myself first, and right now, I’m not sure I’ll ever get there. Right now, I’m barely strong enough to walk away to try to save myself. “Because I’m not healthy,” I answer truthfully. “I look in the mirror and don’t see the girl you see, Colby. I look at my career and see someone who has no direction and no idea what they want in life. I stare at my makeup, hating myself for having to use it every damn day to feel like I hold a sliver of a candle to all the women who walk around me.”
“Baby, come here.” Colby pulls me into his arms and presses his lips against my temple, and I allow myself to feel him, to feel his warmth one more time. Speaking low, he says, “How can I convince you that you are so much more than what you see?”
I shake my head. “You can’t.” I wipe away a wayward tear and pull away, pushing against his chest and breaking the hold he has around me. “I love you, Colby, but I can’t be the girl you need, not when I don’t know who I am.”
“What are you saying, Ryan?”
I move toward the driver’s side of my car, eyes cast down, unable to see the distraught look on his face. “I’m saying goodbye.”
I go to open my car door and he puts his hand on it, his other hand lifting my chin. “Ryan”—his eyes are watering, and I’m about lose it—“stay with me. Please. We can work this out. I’ll do whatever it takes to get you to understand your worth. Just stay with me.”
Sorrowful tears stream down my cheeks, my gut churns, and the need to throw up is threatening. This man is everything I could have dreamed of for myself, for any woman really, he’s that perfect. A kind heart, a loving soul, a protective rock and yet, I can’t give myself to him when I can’t look at myself in the mirror without hating every last inch of my skin. It’s not fair to him to go to Korea where I will slowly implode. He doesn’t need that worry when he’s in the sky.
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