Chapter 3
Chapter Three
FAITH
Ihadn’t heard my mother’s disappointed voice since I left home just over three years ago.
The panic increased a hundredfold. This very well might send me spiraling right back into my therapist’s care.
“Mom?” I whispered. “Are you okay?”
A part of me was excited to hear her voice, and I allowed that part of me to hope that she might say she loved me or even missed me. My heart betrayed me as it picked up speed, with hope.
“Don’t call me that!” came the quipped reply.
My eyes widened and I inhaled a sharp breath. I’d know that anger anywhere, but I refused to call her Meredith. She would do anything to maintain the persona that she was in her early thirties.
Surgeries, Botox, crazy fad diets, and mostly not acknowledging her aging offspring.
“Is everything okay? You sounded sad.”
“Of course I’m not sad. Don’t be ridiculous.” The rough edge of her voice left me raw.
“How did you get my number?”
“Honestly, Astrid, stop being so simple minded.” Her annoyance grew louder through the line. “I am tired of waiting for you to end this tantrum.”
I chewed on my bottom lip, unsure what to say.
“Time to come home. I refuse to make any more excuses for your absence at the Christmas Eve Gala. You know Jane Knolt’s told everyone at her New Year’s party that her daughter, Mandy, had joined the family business.” She scoffed.
I wondered how often Mom wished she had Mandy as a daughter instead of me. Mandy seemed to love the “esteemed” life.
“She announced it to everyone! I know she did it to embarrass me. You’re making us a joke—the LUXE line a joke. It’s time to grow up.”
I had grown up. The problem was I grew into someone she didn’t want.
My heart dropped. She didn’t miss me, all she wanted was for me to come back, work for the company, and control who I was.
I kept my breathing slow and deep and waited for my hands to stop shaking. In therapy, I’d learned about setting boundaries. It was such a simple word to say, but so much harder to do.
I took a shuddering breath and tried to hold back my emotions. She wouldn’t take my emotional outburst as anything but weakness, anyway.
“Please don’t call me again.” The words felt sharp on my tongue, even at a whisper.
I hung up the phone and refused to acknowledge the pain falling from my eyes.
I flicked my fingertips across my cheeks to banish the tears and glanced around my classroom sanctuary. The thankful turkeys hung all over the walls.
Turkeys colored by little fingers and smiling faces.
They were all so different. Different colors, different placements of feathers, feet, eyes, and beaks.
Two were turned into unicorns, and another looked like it was an explosion of feathers and feet.
I chuckled. I was not sure where Mason had gotten the extra feet from.
But each child handed their turkey to me with such pride and happiness in their eyes.
Each one different, each one wonderful, and each one accepted.
Hillsdale was my life now; this was where I wanted to be.
I looked at Danny’s desk, and my heart shrank from the feeling that I might have failed him. But at least I had tried.
Why did parents feel their worth was on the line every time a child was different than they expected? I admit I could do without my own differences—I spun my ring—but Danny was different in a beautiful and subtle way.
My head was ringing and I wished I could undo the last hour of my life.
My phone rang again with the same unknown number. I sent it to voicemail and then saved the number as Mom. It hurt, but it was better than the alternative.
I stood and walked around my little second-grade sanctuary, pushed in orange plastic chairs, and put away pencil boxes.
It was healing to my soul, like I was putting the pieces of myself back together.
Lydia must have gotten new scented markers because her desk was now sporting some bubble gum–scented hearts, Mason left his plastic dinosaurs out, and Caleb was still wiping boogers on the desk. Gross.
I grabbed the disinfectant and wiped down the tables. Technically, the janitor, Jim, would be by later, but there was no need to add to what was already a tough job.
I turned off the lights and went down the hall toward the exit, giving courtesy nods and smiles to people as I passed.
A week of bubble baths, cozy pjs, and The British Baking Show was calling my name.
Rose, my roommate and one of my best friends, was going to Haven Falls for the weekend, and I was glad she didn’t pressure me into coming this time.
I had already gone to her birthday celebration with her family and the one we had a few weeks ago at Scott and Marissa’s Bed it would now never end. The thought made me tired.
Growing up, my mother’s constant negativity at my attempts drained my soul, and I wasn’t excited to restart the exchange.
The sensible thing would be to change my number again, but she would just find it again. Money has always had its perks.
And I was hoping she had grown to accept me and my choices. That maybe she wanted to get to know each other as adults. I shook my head. Stupid.
I was born to continue the Luxe fashion empire.
My parents had gotten it from an investor and had built it into the icon it was today.
Dad was quiet to my mother’s demands. She had my life all mapped out: I would be LUXE Brand Ambassador, or as she called it the face of the business.
Which is why if my face was ever seen, there were strict expectations for it.
The light turned green and I continued down main street, passing Letty’s cat strolling down the road. I made a mental note to text her when I got home in case she was out searching for her again.
At home in NY, I always had to be on, you never knew when people would be watching, and they were always watching. I shivered remembering the paranoia. I did interviews, needed to be seen at galas, and was always on parade.
My perfect life, fit into her perfect gilded frame.
The only problem in her equation was me.
I drove past the Bed I was the villain.
I still hated watching any movies about high school.
I hid my anxiety and sadness behind a mask of bravado and bite. My therapist told me to forgive myself and move on. But some things I’m not sure should be forgiven, because then they might be forgotten. Words have consequences, and I used mine to hurt, and I would never go back to being that girl.
I turned down Park Street, and my little duplex came into view. There were only six, so I was lucky to find something to rent at all. It was the smallest thing I had ever lived in, and I loved it more than anything. It was mine.
Well, mine and Rose’s and the person who actually owned it, but you know, basically mine.
I would try to be worthy of this new life I was creating. I would try to set healthy boundaries and create the life I wanted.
Mom didn’t care about me. Mom didn’t know me, nor did she want to. She wanted a puppet, an empty vessel to shape, mold, and control.
I would need to spend my time and energy on things in my control, on my life in Hillsdale.
I walked into my apartment and turned on the lights as I went. The pressures and expectations of the world easing away.
My house smelled of vanilla and was blissfully quiet.
I took off my blue high heel shoes and put them with my collection of heels.
One good thing about being raised the way I was, I basically learned to walk wearing heels.
Most teachers refuse to wear heels, but I loved how they made my legs look and helped me reach things on shelves.
I went to the bathtub and started the hot water. Hopefully, a bubble bath would help release the tight muscles in my neck and shoulders.
If not, I could try a new recipe as a distraction. I had wanted to try macarons for a while. It looked extremely complicated, which would be perfect.
I sank down into the bubbles and hoped the soap would wash away all thoughts of my past, my mother, and Adam.