Chapter 13
BECCA
I shifted through my closet, wondering what the hell I was supposed to wear. I was meeting Ember for drinks and was running behind.
My cell started ringing on my bed. I glanced down at my mom’s name on the screen. I loved my mom; I did, but she had terrible timing.
I stared at the phone, hoping it would disappear if I ignored it. My mother never called just to say hello. And chances were, I wasn’t going to like what she had to say.
I should have let it roll to voicemail, but I answered anyway because she would make me feel guilty if I didn’t.
“Hi, Mom.” I forced a smile even though she couldn’t see me.
“Well, look at who finally decided to answer her phone.”
Could she ever sound happy to talk to me?
I rubbed my forehead. “Sorry for not calling. It’s been crazy at work.”
Was I too busy to call her? Not really, but I always felt like an inconvenience when I did.
Not that she would ever say that. My mom specialized in quiet criticism.
She was subtle, and growing up with a mother who held a PhD in genetic research meant that every word, choice, and decision I made was silently analyzed.
“You’re too busy to call your mother?”
Of course, she had to make me feel guilty, but then again, I shouldn’t be surprised. This is the same woman who has spent my entire life canceling visits, rescheduling dinners, or forgetting birthdays. She was always too busy with patients, seminars, and conferences—basically, everything but me.
But I was supposed to drop everything as if I didn’t have my own life to live.
I glanced out the window. “The phone works both ways, Mom.”
“I know that, but you could try harder.”
Of course, I could. It was always me. I was the issue.
I picked up my curling iron and plugged it into the outlet. “I’m sorry for not calling. I’ve been assigned a new project at work, and it has taken up a lot of my time.”
“Becca, you’re a sports journalist. Your job is to watch football players throw a ball around. You act like you’re negotiating world peace.”
I couldn’t do this with her tonight.
“Mom.” I sighed, leaning against my dresser. “Why does it always feel like you’re embarrassed by what I do?”
Not once has she ever said she was proud of me. She didn’t have to understand my career choice, but I wished she would respect it. You would think she would be happy for me.
“I never said I was embarrassed. All I’m saying is, maybe you should focus less on chasing athletes around and more on the woman who brought you into this world. There will come a day when I won’t be here, and you will wish that you had put me first before your career.”
That was rich coming from her. Not to mention, I was a grown-ass woman. She expected me to drop everything and put her first when she wasn’t willing to do the same.
I smacked my palm against my forehead. “Is there a reason for this call?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. I just got off the phone with your aunt Brenda. Did you know that Nicole is graduating from Harvard in the spring and has accepted a job in London working for a big pharmaceutical firm?”
I clutched the phone tightly against my ear. “That’s great.”
Nicole was my cousin and the daughter my mom wished she had. She was smart and driven, and she graduated at the top of her class. I got decent grades, but not as good as Nicole’s. I also wasn’t a lawyer or a doctor with a PhD.
“Maybe you should give her a call. The two of you could get together sometime,” she said, acting as if it were a simple suggestion, when we both knew it was more than that.
Nicole and I were cordial at best. We were close in age but never got together outside of family functions. My mom was convinced that if I were around Nicole more, maybe she could change my mind and convince me to pursue a “real” profession.
“I’ll reach out when I get a chance and congratulate her.”
It was times like this where I wished I wasn’t an only child. Maybe then I wouldn’t be the sole recipient of her criticism.
“You can do better than that. You live right outside Boston. Surely, you could find the time.”
An uncomfortable silence passed between us. My mom wasn’t perfect. She wasn’t trying to be cruel, at least not intentionally. That’s what made this so hard.
“Sure. I’ll give her a call soon and invite her to lunch.”
A relaxed sigh echoed through the phone. “Thank you, Becca.”
I figured I would change the topic. “How is your vacation?”
My mom had a condo in Cabo that she had been escaping to for years. She bought it after my dad passed, claiming she needed some place to decompress, where there weren’t memories. It was her little slice of heaven, where she made room for new memories with whoever was in her life at the time.
“That’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about.” Her tone brightened immediately. “I met someone. His name is Dan. He’s a dentist.”
I wasn’t sure what she wanted me to say. Since my father passed away, she’s been married three times.
“That’s nice,” I said, hoping to get my ass off the phone so I could go back to getting ready. I had a feeling I was going to need a drink after this call.
“He asked me to marry him.”
I blinked, feeling something hot and bitter rise in my chest.
I reminded myself that this was how she handled things. Out with the old and in with the new. Like replacing a winter coat.
“Congratulations.”
This would be her fourth marriage in five years. That had to be a record, right?
“That’s all you have to say? Don’t you have any questions? Maybe seem a little more interested in your future stepfather.”
I didn’t trust myself to speak. Anything that came out of my mouth wouldn’t be nice. The only way to deal with her was either to cut her off or to appease her.
“As long as you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.”
I did want her to be happy. That’s what made this so complicated.
The truth was, ever since my dad passed away, she seemed to be searching for the love they had. It was as if she were constantly trying to fill the void he had left behind.
When she married Greg, I brushed it off as normal. She was lonely. People move on all the time after loss, right?
Then she married Peter, husband number two. He was nice, but he never measured up in her eyes.
And then husband number three was a widow too. Pat was still in love with his dead wife, which caused a lot of problems in their short time together.
I wasn’t sure what this new guy’s story was, but I had a feeling that the ending would be the same.
None of them would be my dad. And that was the problem.
“I am happy,” she finally said. “I was just hoping you would be a little more supportive.”
She hasn’t mentioned seeing anyone, so how serious could this be?
“It’s your life. You need to do what’s best for you. When’s the wedding?”
“I’ll send you the details once we finalize things. You’ll need to make yourself available.”
As much as I would have loved to hang up the phone and not have to deal with her, she was still my mother. The only parent I had left.
“I’ll do my best. Just give me enough advance notice.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry for snapping at you. I was just hoping you would be a little more excited.”
That almost made me laugh. I don’t think she cared how I felt. “Let me know if you need anything.”
We talked for a few more minutes before I ended the call. I set my phone down on my nightstand, wishing I had gone with my gut and not answered.
I sat down at my vanity and reached for my curling iron. I needed to focus on getting ready, not let her get into my head. Which always seemed to happen when I talked to her.
The bartender slid our drinks across the polished wood counter. The bar buzzed around us.
Ember tucked the cocktail menu back in the holder. “So, you never said how you feel about your mom getting married again.”
I moved the ice cubes around in my drink, which were mostly melted. It wasn’t that I was upset and wanted her miserable. She deserved to be happy, but this news was just another reminder that life kept moving forward while mine felt like it was at a standstill.
“I think it just caught me off guard.”
“How long has she been dating him?”
“Seeing that she’s only been divorced from Pat for eight months, it can’t be that long.”
“A few months?” Ember blinked. “Okay, I’m going to say this the nicest way I can, because you’re my friend and I love you, but your mom treats marriage like I treat my streaming subscriptions.”
I laughed because I knew she wasn’t trying to be harsh. She was aware of how exhausting it was watching my mom jump headfirst into these relationships while I was still trying to make peace with everything.
“Honestly, I don’t even know what I’m upset about. It’s not like I expect her to stay alone forever. The thing that bugs me the most is that she keeps moving on, making things look easy. It makes me feel like I’m not doing something right.”
“Here’s the thing, you’re allowed to have mixed feelings about all this. But let me be clear: you’re not doing anything wrong. You are moving through life at your own pace, and shame on her for making you question that.”
“She does know how to make me feel bad.”
Ember groaned. “You realize that’s ridiculous, right?”
“I do, but it’s hard to measure up to a woman who saves lives for a living as opposed to me, who writes about football.”
I hated how defensive and insecure I sounded. But that was usually how I felt after one of our phone calls.
“You are an award-winning sports journalist,” she corrected.
“I know, and I love my job. It’s just that every time I talk to her, I somehow feel like I’m fifteen years old again.”
Somehow, every conversation left me second-guessing the life I’d built.
As if I had chosen the wrong path and was wasting my talent.
My dad had never made me feel that way. If anything, he used to brag to all his friends and tell anyone he came into contact with that I was the best journalist the sporting world had ever seen.
I laughed, just thinking about it.