Chapter 2
Tess
"Mom?" I called out, kicking off my shoes in the entryway. "You'll never believe what happened—"
The words froze on my tongue as she emerged from the kitchen, eyes narrowed beneath perfectly coiffed blonde bangs. My excitement deflated instantly, replaced by a familiar knot of anxiety in my stomach. I'd seen that look a thousand times before—the one that said I'd already disappointed her somehow, and I hadn't even finished my sentence.
I swallowed hard, trying to quell the sudden urge to retreat. This was why I'd been hesitant to share my extraordinary experience. Mom had a way of taking anything magical or exciting in my life and twisting it into another reason why I wasn't living up to her expectations.
Even in casual loungewear, Mom carried herself with an imperious air, as if the world owed her deference.
"There you are." Her tone bordered on accusatory, like my mere existence was an intrusion.
I swallowed hard, the excitement over my supernatural encounter deflating under her withering stare. "I, uh... I was driving down the highway, and there was this accident, and then this dragon showed up—"
"Really, Tess," she interrupted, each word dripping with thinly veiled judgment. "This fixation on dragons and magic isn't doing you any favors. At your age, with your... proportions, you ought to be focusing on more realistic goals. Like finding a stable partner."
I glanced down at my jeans and t-shirt, heat rising in my cheeks. "There's nothing wrong with how I look," I mumbled, suddenly aware of the way my shirt clung to my curves.
"Of course not, darling." Kendall's tone dripped with condescension. "If you're happy being... overweight and alone, who am I to judge?"
The barb struck deep, reigniting the familiar insecurities that had plagued me since childhood. I opened my mouth to retort, but Kendall had already moved on.
"Speaking of your pitiful love life, how is that boss of yours? The one you're so enamored with?"
I tensed, knowing full well where this was going. "James is fine. And I'm not enamored with him—he's just my boss."
"Of course, of course." Kendall waved a perfectly manicured hand, her lips curling into a disdainful sneer. "Because a lonely, single woman like you would never be interested in a... what did you call him? A werewolf?"
Of course Kendall would have an issue with my boss, James, being a werewolf. She saw the world through such a narrow, human-centric lens, blinded to the wonders that lurked just beyond her privileged, suburban existence.
I ground my molars, swallowing the litany of retorts that clamored for release. Fighting her was as futile as combating the tide.
"Where's Whiskey?" I asked instead, desperate to change the subject and locate my sole source of unconditional love in this stifling place.
As if on cue, my portly ginger tabby waddled into view, his solitary green eye fixing me with a bemused look. A ragged purr rumbled in his throat as I scooped him into my arms, burying my face in his soft fur. At least someone was glad for my company.
"I still can't believe you insisted on keeping that mangy stray," she sniffed, eyeing my cat Whiskey with naked disdain.
"Don't talk about him like that," I warned, the words a low growl as I scooped up my precious fur baby.
Kendall snorted. "Please, Tempest. That creature is a blight."
Clutching Whiskey tighter, I nuzzled his soft fur, drawing strength from his familiar scent and the steady thrum of his purr against my cheek. "He's more than you'll ever be." The whispered retort slipped out before I could stop it.
Kendall's eyes flashed dangerously. "What was that?"
I straightened my spine, mustering what little courage I had left. "I said, Whiskey is more supportive than you've ever been."
"Supportive?" She scoffed. "Is that what you call enabling your pathetic delusions? Dragons, werewolves, and now you're talking to cats? You're not just disappointing anymore, Tempest. You're deranged."
A voice in the back of my mind warned me to stop talking. I knew from experience that each word I said would only fuel her anger. But something in me couldn't stay silent.
"They're not delusions, Mom. The Unveiling happened. These beings are real, whether you like it or not."
She advanced on me, her voice rising to a shrill pitch. "Real or not, they're nothing but freaks and monsters. Just like you're turning out to be." Her eyes raked over me dismissively. "Look at yourself. Thirty years old, fat, working as a waitress, living with your mother. You can't even focus long enough to hold down a real job. You use your ADHD as an excuse, but it's just another failure. You're a complete and utter disappointment."
I flinched, biting my tongue. Don't respond, I told myself. It'll only get worse. But the words tumbled out before I could stop them. "I’m here for you. And I'm trying my best—"
"Your best?" She interrupted with a cruel, mocking laugh. "Your best is worse than most people's rock bottom. Madison never needed to try. She just succeeded. But you? You're nothing but a waste of potential and a constant source of shame."
The comparison to my perfect sister felt like a knife twisting in my gut. I knew I should stay quiet, let her tirade wash over me until she ran out of steam. But the hurt was too deep, the words too sharp.
"I'm not Madison, Mom. I never will be."
As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. I could see the rage building in her eyes, knew that each response was only throwing fuel on the fire. But it was too late now.
"Oh, believe me, I know," Kendall sneered, disgust etched into every line of her face. "Madison knows her place in the world. She's not chasing ridiculous fantasies or consorting with freaks. She has a real career, a loving husband, and she's not an embarrassment to this family."
"And what?" I snapped, my patience finally breaking. "Your unconditional love?"
Kendall's face contorted with rage. "Love? You want to talk about love? Let me make this perfectly clear, Tempest. I don't love you. I tolerate you. And even that's becoming too much to bear."
Her words hit me like a physical blow. I stumbled back, clutching Whiskey to my chest like a shield.
"You're a disappointment in every possible way," she continued, her voice cold and cutting. "You can't even manage to attract a normal man. Instead, you moon over some flea-ridden werewolf who probably sees you as nothing more than a desperate, easy target."
I felt tears welling up but blinked them back. "You don't know anything about James, or me, or—"
"I know enough," she spat. "I know you're throwing your life away on childish dreams and magical nonsense. I know you're too weak and pathetic to make anything of yourself. And I know that every day I look at you, I regret ever bringing you into this world."
In that moment, something inside me shattered.
"You're right," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I'll never be good enough for you. And I can't do this anymore."
"Do what, exactly?"
I gestured wildly around the room, my heart pounding in my ears. "I can’t deal with the constant put-downs, the backhanded compliments, the emotional manipulation. I'm not going to do this anymore."
Kendall's eyes narrowed to icy slits. "Don't be overdramatic, Tempest."
"I'm not being anything!" My voice cracked with years of repressed anguish. "You manipulate me, control me, make me feel like a disappointment for simply existing!"
Tears blurred my vision, but I pressed on, the dam finally shattering. "But I'm done letting you make me feel worthless. I'm more than what you see, and I won't let you take that away from me anymore."
Silence hung in the air, thick with all the words left unspoken—years of resentment and pain and longing for her approval. For her love. My chest heaved, Whiskey's reassuring weight the only thing anchoring me.
At last, Kendall spoke, her tone laced with finality. "Then get out."
The world tilted on its axis, the bottom dropping out in one sickening lurch. Get out? As in, leave? She couldn't be serious.
My mind reeled, struggling to process the sudden turn of events. Just nine months ago, I'd given up everything—my apartment, my job at the library, my independence—to come take care of her after her "health scare." I'd put my life on hold, thinking I was doing the right thing, being the dutiful daughter.
And now, with a few cruel words, she was tossing me aside like yesterday's garbage.
The irony wasn't lost on me. Her health had miraculously improved as soon as I'd moved in, trapping me in this toxic environment. Now, when I finally stood up for myself, she was all too eager to show me the door.
A bitter laugh threatened to bubble up in my throat. Of course. Of course, this was how it would end. I'd been a fool to think it could ever be different.
In that suspended breath, a strange sort of clarity washed over me. No argument, no impassioned plea, would ever sway Mom's beliefs or behavior—not truly. The cycle was too deeply ingrained, her ability to manipulate and diminish woven into the fabric of our relationship.
"Fine," I heard myself say, my voice steadier than I'd expected. "I'll go."
I turned on my heel and strode purposefully towards my modest bedroom, Whiskey cradled against my chest. My entire life, everything I owned, could be contained in this cramped space no larger than a closet. How tragic was that realization?
With a renewed sense of determination, I grabbed an oversized duffel from the top shelf of my wardrobe and began tossing clothes and essentials inside. Whiskey meowed a soft protest as I set him on the rumpled bedspread, his concerned gaze tracking my frenzied movements.
I made several trips back and forth to my beat-up Toyota hatchback, stuffing the trunk and backseat with hastily packed boxes and bags. Each time I passed Kendall in the living room, she pointedly avoided my gaze, her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.
With each load, I felt a strange mix of emotions—fear of the unknown future, sadness at the final severing of this dysfunctional relationship, and an unexpected sense of liberation. As I packed away my life, I realized how little I actually owned, how much of myself I'd sacrificed trying to earn her approval.
Books, clothes, a few mementos—it was pathetic how quickly thirty years of existence could be condensed into a car load. But with each trip, I felt lighter, as if I was shedding the weight of expectations and disappointments that had burdened me for so long.
With one last glance around the room, I shouldered my bag and scooped up Whiskey's carrier. As I stepped out into the hallway, Kendall was waiting, her arms crossed over her chest.
"I hope you know what you're doing," she said, her voice laced with disapproval. "You'll never make it out there on your own."
That was it. No tearful apologies or pleas to stay, to work it out. Not that I expected any, but a tiny kernel of hope for a maternal embrace withered and crumbled to ash.
But then I thought of the dragon, of the impossible reality I'd glimpsed earlier that day, and something inside me hardened.
"Watch me," I said, holding her gaze steady.
And with that, I turned and walked out the door.