Chapter 22 #2
“I’m sending a picture through,” Barbara says with disgust.
No!
No no no.
Mom’s phone pings, and she swipes the screen.
“Mom, I’m begging you,” I cry. “Let me explain.”
But it’s too late.
She zooms in on the screen, and her jaw drops.
Her body sways as her eyes track line after line.
While she reads, she mumbles a few words aloud.
“Sextival … five thousand condoms … event coordinator June—” She gasps, bringing her hand to her gaping mouth.
“I don’t believe this.” She looks up at me, pure betrayal in her eyes.
“This whole time, you’ve been behind Sextival? ”
I close my eyes, hot tears streaking down my cheeks. “I can explain.”
“Explain what?” she says in a dangerously low octave. “That my daughter is a slut?”
The word barrels into my chest like a searing knife, slashing straight through my heart. My body recoils, shame pouring over me like hot tar. I stumble backward, as if she’s struck me with an actual object.
“You said you were proud of me.” My voice wavers as I force myself to hold my ground.
With an incredulous scoff, she says, “I was proud of my daughter, the nutrition professor. Not the one teaching respectable college girls how to be whores.”
The blows shouldn’t land as hard as they do, but each one hits like a knockout punch.
Maybe it’s the connection we’ve had the past few days. Her stepping up to be the mother I never had but always needed.
I wish Alex was here. Or Gram. Hell, even Charlie. None of them would let her talk to me this way. They would all stand up for me.
But they’re not here.
I’m all alone.
No one is going to stand up for me unless I do it for myself. I couldn’t do it at twelve, or fifteen, or twenty-one. Hell, I couldn’t even do it two months ago when she confronted me about the condom I dropped.
But something burning inside me gives me the courage I need to do it now.
So I hold her gaze, putting as much conviction into my voice as I can. “I’m not a slut. And I don’t teach college girls to be whores.”
Her harsh eyes narrow. “This article says otherwise.”
Something inside me snaps. Maybe it’s her dismissal. Or her lack of accountability. But I’m done letting her shame me. Letting her bully me into submission.
“This article says I teach human sexuality at Barrett. That I educate consenting adults on how to take care of themselves and their bodies. That I have a doctorate degree. That I’m an expert in my field. What part of that reads slut to you, Mother?”
She huffs a mirthless laugh. “If you’re so proud of what you do, then why did you lie to my face when I brought up Sextival? You said you’d never heard of it.”
I lift my chin. “Because deep down I knew you’d never accept me for who I really am.
My whole life, I’ve tried to be the perfect daughter.
But no matter what I did, I was never good enough for you.
I built a wall that was a hundred feet tall so no one else could ever hurt me the way you’ve hurt me my whole life.
And guess what?” I spit the words. “All it did was keep love out. But lately, I’ve learned to let my guard down.
And I’ve felt what real love is. It’s the opposite of this. ” I gesture between us.
Her face slackens as if I’ve landed a blow of my own. A surge of power sizzles under my skin, like lightning crackling through my veins.
“I’ve craved your love my entire life, and I thought I finally had it. But a mother’s love isn’t something you should have to earn. And I’m done seeking it. I’m done pretending to be someone who fits in your little box of what a perfect daughter should be. And I’m done caring what you think.”
I march to my car and throw open the driver’s side door. Before I slide in, I level her with one last glare.
“There’s a reason I do what I do. I empower my students.
A lot of them grew up like I did—sheltered and riddled with shame about their own bodies.
Guess what? Sex isn’t dirty. Condoms aren’t bad.
And orgasms are a beautiful thing. Maybe if you had one, you wouldn’t be so uptight.
” I slam the door and start the engine, then peel away from the curb.
I don’t let the tears fall until I’m out of sight.
As I drive away, I glance in the rearview, and I swear I see a hint of something in her eyes that almost looks like regret.
Somehow, I make it home. I have no memory of the commute or the walk up to my apartment, but I’m in front of my door, fumbling with the key. My hands haven’t stopped shaking since I left my mother’s house. When I finally get the door open, I barrel into my apartment, nearly colliding with Alex.
“Woah, what’s wrong?” He grasps my shoulders, steadying me.
I search his eyes, trying to hold onto a semblance of my composure, but the softness in his gaze breaks me, and I crumple in his arms. “She called me a slut,” I choke out. Broken sobs leave my chest as I clutch fistfuls of his soft T-shirt.
He lowers us both to the ground, pulling me into his lap. “I’m so sorry, June. I never should have pushed for that article.”
I lift my head, grasping his cheeks. “No, Alex. The article is brilliant. You were right to do it.” I sniffle, wiping my arm across my face. “And you were right about her controlling me. That stops now.”
He runs his fingers over my back. “I’m really proud of you, June. I know that couldn’t have been easy.”
I smile sadly. “It wasn’t. But I shouldn’t have to keep hoping for a mother who loves me unconditionally.”
He strokes my cheek. “You’re doing so much good, June. You’ve helped so many students, touched so many lives. You should be really proud. I know I am.”
I lay my head on his chest, getting lost in the reassuring strokes of his fingers, the gentle hum of his breath.
This is love.
He may not have said the words, but he’s shown me. Over and over. And as long as he’s here, I know I’ll be okay.