Chapter 28
Five hours later, I leave Nate in the parking lot of a big-box store on the outskirts of Asheville. He offered to go to my mom’s with me, but I need to do it alone. He’s going to buy some office supplies and work on his pitch, and we’ll meet up later.
Thirty minutes after that, I pull into a fifty-five-and-over community and make a left onto a street I recognize only by name.
I’ve never been here, and every townhouse on the block has the same siding (brick veneer on the front, vinyl on the rest), but I spot the right one without needing to check the house number.
It’s got an explosion of fall décor out front under the porch lights—faux hay bales and pumpkins, a wreath of leaves in autumn colors, and cornstalks attached to the pillars.
Tuesday is her day off. The rest of the week, she works the front desk at a medi-spa. My aunt Heather lives nearby, which is why my parents moved down here a couple years ago, after their landlord sold the house they’d been renting.
When Mom opens the front door, she stares at me blankly.
The bangs are new, though I saw them in her video, but otherwise she looks the same as always—shoulder-length blond blowout, flawless makeup on her sweet-as-pie face, pretty blouse.
“Quinn?” The first time she says my name, it sounds like an accusation.
“ Quinn? ” When she repeats it, her voice is approximately seventy-four octaves higher and verging on hysterical, and I grit my teeth.
Here comes an over-the-top warm welcome, even though I can’t remember the last time she initiated a conversation with me that wasn’t about a favor she needed.
I’m filled with the same complicated blend of resentment, guilt, and frustration I always feel when I see her. Then she wraps me in a big hug and starts to sob, which is usually when the fondness kicks in—the most confusing part of the emotional mix. Not today, though.
“What are you doing here?” she asks. Before I can answer, she pulls me inside and drags me to the kitchen. “Let me call your dad and see if he can come home early. Are you staying the night?”
“Wait, Mom. I need to talk to you.” She’s busy filling a glass with sugar-free lemonade and pressing it into my hand. “Mom.”
“Are you hungry? You look like you could use a Lean Cuisine. None for me, though, I’m doing intermittent fasting again.”
“Mom.”
She flits around, from the freezer back toward me, then over to her phone by the sink. Her hands fly everywhere. “This is the best surprise! My famous daughter. Wait, let’s take a picture!”
When she picks up the phone, I flinch like she’s going to hit me with it. Any photo of us she takes is currency; she’ll cash it in online for clout.
“No!” I say it forcefully enough that she stops. “I’m here to talk about 50 Is a Plus. What are you doing ?”
She presses her lips together as she scrutinizes me. I can see the wheels turning as she debates how to play it. I can’t let her take control of this conversation. She’s too good at it.
“It’s shady. Saying you look like that because of whatever you’re selling and not because of your Botox and fillers and that eyelid surgery.
What happened to ‘Jolee was a mistake I got caught up in because it made me feel like a person and not just a mom, because it gave me a community and an identity’?
What happened to feeling guilty about all the lies? ”
“You’re being a little dramatic,” she says. “It’s not the same as Jolee. So what if somebody buys one measly serum based on my recommendation? It can’t hurt. Most of the products I’ve talked about so far are things I like, anyway.”
I change tack. “It can hurt me. You made a big deal in that video about us being related. I already get a nasty message about Jolee every couple months when somebody you used to work with recognizes me. Those people are out there, and they’re still pissed, and the last thing I need is for them to come after me because of what you did.
” The ice cubes in the glass I’m holding rattle vigorously.
I set it on the counter. “You haven’t even asked me if I’m okay, Mom.
You know I got cheated on and dumped. Aren’t you worried about your daughter? ”
She scoffs. “Quinn. Of course I felt for you. But I know you’re okay. You always bounce back. And you can console yourself with your glamorous life in L.A. and those big piles of money you’re making. A man is nothing compared to that. If you’re upset, cheer up. ”
She sounds bitter. Jealous, even.
“I don’t know how big you think these piles of money are,” I say quietly. “Most of what I make goes toward fixing things you did.”
Her shoulders droop. “How many years do I have to pay for a mistake I made? You’re never going to forgive me, are you?”
The rage that engulfs me is the deepest red, like the scab on an old wound. She is the one responsible here, for what she did back then and what she’s doing now. I can’t let her twist this into something I’m doing to her.
“You want to know the part that hurts the worst?” I say.
“The most egregious lie? It’s the fact that you said we were best friends.
I would love to be close to my mother, but you don’t care about me.
You’re only interested in two things: what my success says about you, and how much money you can get from me. That ends now, by the way.”
Her eyes flash with anger, or panic, maybe, but she keeps her cool and merely scoffs.
“I can’t win. You won’t help me, but I’m not allowed to help myself?
At the rate we’re going, your dad and I are never going to be able to retire.
All I’m trying to do is give us a little cushion.
What would be good enough for you? Kindergarten teacher? Charity worker? Nun?”
“Not scammer, ” I say. “Not again.”
A disgusted sound comes out of her mouth as she rolls her eyes.
“News flash, Quinn. We all do a little bit of bullshitting. That kindergarten teacher gets those kids to behave by telling them a freaking elf on a shelf is reporting back to Santa. Those charity people suck up to donors. And I’m sure I don’t have to explain about the nuns! ”
“That’s not…” Blood thumps in my ears, and I can’t think straight. I’ve held my own so far, but Mom is good at this. Making arguments that I can’t counter until the sensible response comes to me hours later.
“It’s not what?” she challenges, setting her hands on her hips. “What about you? This trip you’re taking, the whole independent-woman-on-a-big-adventure thing. All the words of wisdom. You’re bending reality too.”
It’s a precision hit, right where it hurts most. “It’s not the same.” My voice wavers. “I’m helping people.”
A tear streaks down her face. She dabs carefully at her eye, trying not to smudge her makeup.
“Oh, okay. When you try to help people, it’s fine.
When I try to help people—to make them feel good about themselves, to get them comfortable in their skin, it’s not fine.
Just like in the Jolee days. I was trying to help women build their own income stream, not to mention their self-worth.
You have no idea what it’s like. You’re so hard on me.
I did my best. And guess what? You learned a few things from me, whether you like it or not. ”
My throat burns. “I’m nothing like you.”
“Like it would be so horrible.” She wipes another tear.
I waver. Am I being too hard on her? But no—she’s spinning things. What she did with Jolee was wrong, and so is what she’s doing now.
“As wonderful as this visit has been,” I say, “I think I’m going to go. If you take the video about me down today, I’ll keep making the payments on the loan. But that’s it. No more money.”
Her face hardens. “We took out that loan for your benefit. To give you stability during a difficult time. And it’s in your name.”
“You’re lying. You used that money on Jolee while the business was falling apart. If I have to, I’ll talk to a lawyer about my options. Identity theft is illegal.” I have no idea if I’d have a case against her, or even if I’d be willing to pursue it. But I can lie too.
She opens her mouth to speak, but I’m done.
The house is a blur as I storm out of it.
My own mother has used and manipulated me.
Consistently. And because I am who I am, I’ve always hoped for better, but it’s time to give up.
I will never have the kind of parent who loves me unconditionally, who calls to say hello or sends me articles about why blue light at night is bad for my health.
Any family I have is going to have to be one I make for myself.
No matter what I do, I’m never going to be able to shake her completely.
Whether I like it or not, she’s right about one thing: I did learn a few things from her.
They’re part of me, and I don’t think I’d be as successful without them.
Her tenacity. Her charm. The way she molds the truth into whatever the situation requires.
She’s passed these things on to me, like inherited traits. Or an inherited disease.
The worst part is that I’m not missing something I never had.
My memories of early childhood include unconditional love: Mom stroking my face after a nightmare until I fell back asleep, Mom sewing up my favorite stuffed elephant after a hole appeared below its ear, telling me the best things are a little bit broken.
Jolee brought out the worst in her, the way furniture and lighting bring out the undertones in a paint color.
Greed and selfishness may have always been inside her, but they didn’t have to become her most prominent features.
Jolee fostered them, let them grow until they choked out everything else like weeds.
I can’t let that happen to me.