6. Claire
6
My eyes follow the motion of the brush, watching as the metallic bronze blends into the burgundy around my mother’s eyes. The same warm, golden hue that I see staring back at me in the mirror every morning.
My mother and I look so similar, there’s no denying that we’re related. But that’s where the similarities start to die down.
I love to dress up and show off my assets with pride. My mother loves to dress up but uses it as a tool to get what she thinks she needs.
I love to surround myself with people, finding a friend in every crowd. After my grandmother, the only people my mother remotely tolerates are me and Lex.
I love the attention of men, as long as I’ve welcomed it first, and exploring the way our bodies desire one another.
My mother hates men. All of them. She’s never recovered from the way my dad lied to her. He not only broke her trust in him, but he broke her trust in herself.
I can understand her hesitancy. Growing up and hearing the story of my conception over and over again turned me off relationships. Felt like a whole lot of effort for things to just turn into shit, leaving you with a bucket of heartbreak and spoonfuls of self-doubt that leak from every crack.
I’ve never had my heart broken, so I at least have the confidence to explore casual sex. Making sure to define the parameters to save me from the fate my mother drowned in.
Over the years, I’ve tried to tell her about the beauty of a one-night stand and friends with benefits, but she isn’t interested. I stopped pushing a few years ago when she finally said she’ll never let herself be vulnerable with anyone again. I knew she was jaded, but those words just made me feel sad for her.
She’s all about feminine power, but sex is power too. I loved how confident and beautiful the act could make me feel. It could be exciting; it could calm your mind as well. It gave you a way to understand your body, and by taking control, knowing your limits and defining your barriers, it could give you a sense of strength too.
I wonder how different our lives would be if my mother decided to let my father’s betrayal fuel her fire rather than burn her.
“So, what’s tonight’s event?” I ask her, switching to finish the shadow on her other eye.
“Women in business. It’s networking for female-owned businesses and women in male-dominated trades.”
“Nice. Gotta love when women stick together,” I say, trading my brush for some eyeliner.
Mum hums in agreement and takes a quick sip of her wine before I start drawing the liner on her other side.
“What colour lip are we doing?”
“Maybe a dusty pink. No men tonight, so we can save the red.”
“What?” I rear back with a playful scoff. “You can wear red anytime you want. Doesn’t have to be for men.” I dig through my case, looking through all the lip colours. There’s a beautiful deep red that calls to me, but I opt for the one beside it instead. It’s a soft rose colour, just enough depth to be confident but still flirty.
“Still,” she shrugs, “I want to relax tonight.”
I syphon through another bag to find a lip liner that matches the lipstick, my mother’s words swirling in my head. Like a tornado, the words toss and turn, trying to latch onto something with substance. But there’s nothing to anchor them. My mother is lost, floating in her own storm and letting the hurt penetrate her. She doesn’t know how to dance in the rain. Her umbrella stays up, repelling whatever threatens to get close and soak through.
I pick a pencil that’s slightly darker than the lipstick and guide it around her lips. My eyes follow the path in between small glances at my mother’s eyes.
She stares off into the distance, and I feel like this is the first time I’m really noticing the mask she wears.
My mother has always been firm and direct with the outside world, saving any softness she’s capable of strictly for me. She raised me to be confident and ambitious, taking any opportunity to praise me for anything I did in life. She’s always been a proud mother. But I think along the way, she’s forgotten how to be a proud woman. A happy one.
“You look really pretty, Mum,” I say as I bring the lipstick to her lips. They stretch out into a smile as I paint them pink.
“Thank you, sweetie.”
“I hope you have fun tonight.”
She smacks her lips together once I finish. “I’m sure I will,” she says, jumping off the kitchen stool and heading in the direction of her bedroom to put on her dress. “Hazel Heart always puts on a good event.”
“Oh, Heart City royalty is paying tonight? It’s bound to be good then,” I call out in response and start packing my makeup into the rolling case I brought over.
Mum comes out of her bedroom, a black cocktail dress moulded to her slight figure. The thin straps sit gently on her toned shoulders. In her mid-forties, my mother is still a knockout. She’s a Pilates junkie and it shows in her toned body.
It was my mum that got Lex into yoga when we were teens. I’m not a morning person, but my bestie is. Whenever she came for a sleepover, she’d be waiting a good few hours before I got up. She used to just lie in bed and wait for me, but eventually, she got bored, and one morning, she left my room to make breakfast without me and came across my mum doing yoga.
I like that it was something they shared and could enjoy together. Lex didn’t have her own mother to bond with, and I think my mum liked having someone to share that with, too. They both knew that was not the form of exercise I preferred.
“Woohoo, hot mama.” I smile, grinning bigger when my mother’s cheeks turn pink.
She waves me away with one hand while gold heels hang from the other. “Can’t go wrong with a little black dress.”
“I’ll drink to that,” I say, and pick up the small glass of wine she poured me when I got here. Tipping it back, I walk into the kitchen to leave the now-empty glass.
“Are you doing anything tonight?” she asks.
“I’m not sure. Lex is working. I suppose I could get dressed up and go sit at her bar and annoy her.”
“You should,” Mum says, buckling her heels. “You’re young, and it’s a Saturday night. Go have some fun while you can.”
I should go and have fun. I don’t want to forget that feeling, the one my mum has.
I chew on the inside of my cheek as I weigh up my options. I could go to Hallucinogens and chat with Lex while she works, have a dance by myself, and maybe meet someone to let loose with. But that thought instantly reminds me of the guy I met at The Wayside last week. Now he was fun. But he was also different.
I like how it felt with him, the way our bodies created a buzzing friction together. Feeding off every touch.
I like how it felt like something we were sharing between the two of us, like a secret. It wasn’t just two people getting off for their own agendas. He listened to my body, he searched for the ways I responded to his fingers against my skin, all while his words whispered in my ear.
He was like thunder. I didn’t only hear him, but I felt that rumble deep inside, beating against my rib cage. It was that anticipating feeling, knowing that the rain was coming, bringing with it that comfort in the way it smelled when it soaked the earth. The sensation of the droplets hitting your skin and gliding down with ease, you can feel every inch it hits.
My mother might not know how to dance in the rain, but I do. And the last time I saw him, I told him exactly where he could find me if he wanted to. And now, I desperately want to know if he does.
“Yeah. I think I will.” I pop the handle on my case up so I can walk it out to my car and kiss my mother’s cheek as I pass her. “Love you.”
“Love you too, Claire Bear.”
When I get home, I decide to take just a little bit of my mother’s advice.
I put on a little black dress.
And I wear the damn red lipstick.
I’ve got a lover boy to dance with.