by Alexa Martin
I’ve been seeing Chloe three times a week and going to AA meetings since.
And I’m sober.
I have to feel my feelings and learn to deal with them. As hard as it is, it’s also pretty great too. Everything feels deeper, seems brighter, is more alive.
“You have an appointment tomorrow, you know where meetings are, but if this goes bad and you need to talk after, you have my after-hours number. Do not hesitate to call. You are not a burden and I want to support you. Got it?”
She ends every session with this reminder.
Always feeling like I’m just causing other people stress and problems has been my hardest hurdle. I still haven’t cleared it, and I don’t know when I will. But I do know that I’m making progress every day and that’s all that matters.
“Thank you.” I stand up, grabbing my purse off the table by the door, accepting that the nerves I’m feeling for what I’m about to do are good. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
* * *
• • •
I go over what I plan on saying the entire drive to her new place. I was hoping that would help ease the fear of this meeting, but right after I push the doorbell, I start to wonder if maybe this is a mistake.
It’s too late for second thoughts though.
Because the door swings open and there she is, looking as beautiful as ever.
“Ju-ju!” My mom’s long, lithe body crosses the threshold and she wraps her arms around me. My body goes solid at her touch, but she either doesn’t notice or ignores my reaction. With her, both are equally plausible. “I’ve missed you so much.”
I take a small step back, careful to keep a smile on my face as I gently pull myself out of her grip. “Hi, Mom.”
“Well.” She tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear and gestures for me to go inside. “Come in! I’m so excited to show you my new place and catch up.”
My steps falter as I enter her home.
I was almost as nervous to see this place as I was to see her. Gossip magazines and websites started to report news of the foreclosure a couple of weeks ago. Of course, thanks to Eliza, my mom was able to work with them and spin it in her favor. They painted her as the poor widow who wasn’t losing the house so much as she was making the difficult decision to downsize.
I had to go to an emergency meeting when Spencer sent me that article.
Then I had to block Spencer’s number a few days later when, after I told her how hard it was for me to see this stuff, she spammed me with more articles about my mom and asked to meet at a bar.
I miss her, too, but I’m hoping that I’ll be able to talk with her soon.
“So? What do you think?” My mom’s assessing eyes are watching me as I take it all in.
“It’s really nice, Mom.” And it is.
It’s a fraction of the size of our old house but more than enough space for my mom. There’s a huge white-brick fireplace in the center of the room and old, beautiful oak beams on the ceiling with a giant circular chandelier dangling in the middle. All of her furniture is new, and the chair my dad always used to lounge in when we’d sit in the living room and watch TV together is long gone.
I really wish she’d given me that chair.
In fact, everything about this house is new. There’s not even a family picture lingering on the freshly painted walls. I have no idea how she managed to pay for all of this, but I don’t intend to ask.
Her smile is blinding. “I’m so glad you like it. I made some iced tea, let me pour you a glass.”
She walks in front of me, not checking to see if I’m following. I trail behind, not saying a word, still trying to come to terms with these surroundings as we walk into her massive, marble-covered kitchen with gleaming new appliances. She points me to an upholstered stool at the counter and I sit while she pours the tea.
“Lots of ice, just how you like it and . . . oh shoot.” She puts the glass in front of me before rummaging through the drawer next to her. “Hold on . . . I think . . . there!” She lifts her hand in the air, raising the plastic straw over her head like it’s a trophy. “A straw. I know how much you love straws.”
I decide not to remind her that I stopped using plastic straws years ago, something she knows, seeing as I’ve told her so many times I lost count.
I lift the glass to my lips and take a deep gulp. “Thanks.”
“And I have some gin if you want to make it a royal tea.” She turns and walks toward what I’m assuming is the bar.
“No thanks, I’m not drinking,” I say. But that doesn’t slow her down.
“Oh please.” She waves me off. “A little gin never hurt anybody.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s factually untrue,” I mutter beneath my breath before remembering what Chloe has told me about speaking up for myself and not letting my mom bulldoze me. “Mom, stop,” I say, this time with power behind my voice.
She stops and turns to me, the annoyance in her expression there for a split second before she schools her features. “Why are you so testy? You love my royal tea.”
“I did love your royal tea when I needed alcohol to get through our time together, but I’m sober now and I don’t want gin.” I don’t mince my words, even though my first instincts in dealing with my mom are to measure every single sentence that passes my lips.
“Sober?” My mom laughs at the word like it’s the funniest joke she’s ever heard.
Even though I knew this is how this was going to go, I think the little girl in me still hoped my mom would prove me wrong. I hoped she would’ve used the time apart like I did and worked on herself, maybe realized that all the media attention and material possessions aren’t as important as family . . . and considering we’re all the family we have left, she’d realize how much she missed me.
I didn’t even tell Chloe this, but I think she still knew.
“Yes, Mom, sober.” I push the iced tea to the side and stand up. There’s no need to extend this meeting any longer. “Because I had a problem. A problem that was getting so big that I took alcohol with me to a playgroup while I was babysitting Addy. Alcohol that Addy ended up drinking and being rushed to the ER for.”
I still can’t think about that day without getting sick to my stomach. The look on Addy’s face as the doctors pushed the IV in her little arm wakes me up every single night. And the way I spoke with Lauren? I know she’ll never forgive me.
I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself.
“You did what?” The color drains out of my mom’s face, and for the first time maybe ever, I think she gets that I’m being serious. “Jude, if this gets out, do you know what it will do to me? I can’t spin something like that. And I’m just starting to get bigger story lines on Hollywood Housewives.”
Of course she didn’t care about the fact that I destroyed my longest friendship or that I hurt the daughter of a woman who considered her to be a second mother.
She’s a narcissist, Jude. Time and space will not change that. You have to protect yourself from her, because if you don’t, she will drag you down and then step on your battered body to get back up.
I hate when Chloe is this right.
“If Lauren was going to press charges, I think she would’ve already done it.” I don’t actually know if this is true or not. I keep expecting to open the door to police officers one day. Honestly, I keep hoping I’ll open the door to police officers. It’s what I deserve. “And if she does, it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with her protecting her daughter, something you could probably learn from.”
Color fills her face, and if her face wasn’t so overstuffed with fillers, she would be glaring at me. “Excuse me? What did you just say to me?”
“You heard me, Mom.” I take a deep breath, remembering all of the bullet points I wanted to say to her. “Ever since Dad died, you’ve treated me like the
parent in this relationship. You’ve ignored my mental health and well-being time and time again in order to get what you want. You’ve manipulated me and used my love for you as a weapon. You’ve threatened to kill yourself because I didn’t have the money to help you. You disowned me because you prioritized working with a magazine over your own daughter.”
“You just hate me. You always loved your dad more, and now you hold everything I’ve ever done against me,” she snaps back, going straight on the defensive and not listening to anything that I’ve said.
Again, not surprising, but still disappointing.
“I love you, Mom.” I let my voice go gentle, not bothering to mask the sadness and anger I feel having to have this conversation with her. “I love you so much. It’s why I kept thinking that if I did one more thing you asked, you’d turn back into the mom I lost when Dad died. It’s why you treating me the way you have has affected me so deeply.”
“You can’t hold how I behaved when your dad died against me. I made stupid decisions, but I’m not that person anymore. I can’t go back in time to fix it. You have to be able to move on.”
This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this.
Not an apology. Not a muttered I’m sorry. Just her telling me that I have to move on. I have to forgive her.
“I don’t have to move on.” This is the part of the conversation I’ve had to work on with Chloe. This is where I knew I would struggle. “I don’t have to forgive you.”
“I’m your mom,” she says, like that means something now. “You have to forgive me, you’re all I have. Without you, I’ll be all alone. I couldn’t survive that.”
“You’re the one who cut me off three months ago. You’re the one who exploited me to the gossip magazines when I told you I needed time. You’re the one who took money you knew I didn’t have to buy new shoes and keep up with an image you couldn’t afford.” Saying the things I’ve been thinking for months . . . maybe even years, feels so freeing. With everything I tell her, it’s like another weight is lifted off my shoulders. “And I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m not responsible for you. I can’t put your mental health above my own. Not anymore.”
She folds her arms in front of her chest and gives her chin a defiant lift. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that it was a good idea, you giving us space, and we should keep doing it.” I cross the kitchen, in hopes that she can see in my eyes how hard this is for me. “I’m not in a good enough place to handle our relationship in a healthy way.”
“But Jonathon just told Eliza we’d do a photo shoot in the new house.”
“That’s not my problem, Mom.” I ignore the familiar pain knowing she’s more worried about what I can do for her than anything else. “You’ll have to figure that out.”
“I’m your mom!” Her voice is rising and I know the tears are going to come next. “You can’t just cut me out.”
“You are my mom, but being that still doesn’t mean you’re owed a spot in my life if you’re just going to abuse it.”
I wait a moment to see if she has anything else to say, but when she stays quiet, I wrap my arms around her and give her one last hug before I turn and retrace my steps through her new house and out the front door.
I climb into my car and start the engine, but I don’t put it in drive.
Even though I’m so proud of myself for doing what I was always too afraid to do and the relief I feel for getting that conversation out of the way is palpable, I’m still sad. Sad that faced with my truth and a future without me, she still couldn’t step up and be the mom I needed her to be.
But I know I can’t put my expectations on her shoulders, and I’ll move on.
No matter how hard it is.
* * *
• • •
I thought I was for sure going to need a meeting after talking with my mom, but I think I’ve known it was coming for so long that it ended up not being as hard on me as I expected.
I toss the mail on my new coffee table and walk into the kitchen, grabbing a sparkling water out of the fridge and sticking my leftover Indian food from the night before in the microwave. Once my dinner is done, I dump it on a plate and carry it over to the couch I found at a really cool secondhand store next to the new Pilates studio I’ve been going to.
I don’t even get my first bite to my mouth when a small purple envelope covered in stickers beneath this week’s grocery ad catches my eye.
I snatch it off the table, and my stomach flips when I see Lauren’s name with the return address. I rip open the envelope, not knowing what to expect, and tears start to fall when I see the llama-covered birthday invitation with Addy’s handwriting all over it proclaiming how much she misses me. My hand instinctively moves to the necklace I still haven’t taken off, and I run my fingertips over the inscription.
I didn’t think I’d have to use it, but I grab my phone and go straight to Chloe’s after-hours number. Because in more ways than one, seeing Lauren and Addy means way more to me than seeing my mom. And I need a plan.
THIRTY-SEVEN
• • •
Lauren
One of the perks of moving back in with my parents is that I get to use their massive backyard to host Adelaide’s birthday instead of forking over a small fortune to whatever venue Adelaide wanted this year.
“Mommy! Mommy! The animals are here! The animals are here!” Adelaide screams from somewhere in the house that I still can’t believe I’m living in . . . again.
The biggest downfall of this living arrangement is that my parents indulge Adelaide’s every whim and are creating a total monster. For her birthday, they paid to have a petting zoo brought into their backyard. Complete with llamas since they’re Adelaide’s new obsession.
Unicorns are so last year.
Adelaide’s words, not mine.
“I’m just saying, these animals destroy Dad’s flowers, I’m not taking responsibility,” I say to my mom as we prepare the fruit trays to spread out in the dining room.
“Oh, stop it.” My mom waves me off as she rearranges the strawberries for the sixth time. “As long as she’s happy, Dad can regrow his flowers. He’d probably be happy to have a new gardening project.”
This is not a lie, but still. I have no idea what aliens took over my parents’ bodies and left me with this easygoing woman who lets Adelaide play with her porcelain figurines.
“Okay.” I toss the grapes on the side of my tray and turn to my mom. “Who are you and what did you do to my mom? Because you would’ve never let me have llamas and a bounce house at my birthday party.”
She laughs like what I said was funny and not a deadly serious inquiry.
“We’re grandparents,” she replies, giving her standard response. “We get to do the fun stuff like spoiling her rotten. Don’t you remember when your grandmother took you to Disney World for your birthday for a week when you were ten? Even though Disneyland is right down the street and you wouldn’t have needed to fly and stay in a hotel?”
I do remember that. It was the best birthday ever. We went on every ride as many times as I wanted, had all the character dinners, and bought so much Disney crap that my grandma had to buy an extra suitcase for our trip home.
“Okay.” I grab the box of crackers and open it to start the cheese trays. “I see your point.”
“Exactly”—my mom smirks—“I was so jealous of her that year. I picked you out this gorgeous gold necklace with your initials. I thought you were going to love it, but it wasn’t even an afterthought once you found out about Disney.”
I drop the crackers on the counter and turn to my mom. “You were jealous?”
“Of course I was. You see what it’s like being a parent. You’re always on. Always worried about how what you’re doing will affect your child in the long run.” She shakes her head and moves on to obsessing o
ver the grapes. “I know there are some grandparents who have to worry still, but I’m one of the lucky ones. You’re such an amazing mom that I don’t have to worry about anything except spoiling that sweet girl of mine.”
Her words stop me dead in my tracks.
“You think I’m a good mom?” My mom has never told me that before. Not ever. If anything, I always assumed she thought I was doing a terrible job. Something I’ve managed to reinforce again and again lately.
“Of course I do.” She tears her focus away from the tray that I don’t have the heart to tell her nobody is probably going to look twice at, and when she looks at me, her eyebrows are furrowed together. “Have you seen that little girl in there? That kind of spirit doesn’t just come from nothing. She’s able to be like that because of the safety you provide her.”
“But even . . .” I try to think of the right way to ask what I really want to know. “Even after everything that’s happened, you still think that?”
To say that I’ve been feeling guilty since the alcohol incident may possibly be the greatest understatement of the century.
Before we even left the hospital, I had to call Kim because Ben petitioned the court for an emergency custody hearing. I couldn’t even be mad at him. If that had happened to Adelaide when she was with him, I would’ve lost my mind. Thankfully, because we went straight to my parents’ once Adelaide was released, the court denied his request.
I haven’t touched the podcast since. No emails have been sent. I haven’t even gone out with Hudson. My sole focus has been Adelaide. The way it always should’ve been.
My mom abandons the tray and takes my hands in hers.