25. Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Five
Betty
M y feet spin, and I’m dancing. Dancing on the streets like I don’t have a care in the world. It sure feels this way. I haven’t felt this free in a long time, and I owe it all to Laredo.
I hum Sano’s anthem to living life without restrictions and remind myself to never forget this lesson again. I almost feel normal again. Margo is hanging out with friends tonight; Laredo is back at the studio, working with Ariel and his brother. I’ve clocked out from the bookstore. An urge pulls at me to head to Driftwood, but I don’t want to press my luck.
Today was a good day. I’m headed home to relax and enjoy the moment while a little part tells me to stick close to home in case Laredo wants to hang. I’ve never been the stay at home in case a guy calls type of girl. But for Laredo, I will.
I turn the corner, and my feet stop when I see who is sitting on the steps of the tiny starter house I’m renting. My mom.
She spots me, rising to her feet with a foreign happy to see you smile on her face. My mom matches my five-five height. She’s thin, with dark hair, wearing large sunglasses that hide her wandering eyes. I spot a strand of gray in her brunette bun sitting on the top of her head. I know the minute she notices; she’ll rush to her favorite chair in Miss Delilah’s beauty shop.
I slow my approach, still adjusting to the smiles from her. For most of my adult life, my mom had only given me looks of disapproval, her passive-aggressive way of reminding me that I didn’t follow the path she had built for me. The responsible path filled with a respectful job and a reputable husband, leading to a quiet life not making waves.
As much as I rebelled against every one of her lessons, I still seek her approval. When I moved out of my shared apartment right on the beach, I found this tiny house a quarter of a mile inland. My mom always told us to strive toward owning a home. A fact that played into my decision when I went looking for my next place. It’s a rental, but it’s a house. Even if all I could afford is the first floor of the house and its total footage is less than my old apartment, my mom seemed pleased when I invited her over that first time.
“You’re in a good mood.” My mom raises her sunglasses and gives me the once-over. “I like this top on you.” Her smirk only reminds me of a lifetime of remarks she made about the outfits I wore to Driftwood.
Instead of pushing back, I nod. I play the role of the door mouse because my reckless behavior last summer demanded I take inventory and do things differently. Mom was more than willing to help me on my journey. A nudge here, an invite to join her on a trip to the outlet malls there, a forwarded email with a link to a government job with benefits. Bit by bit, nudge by nudge, she’s reshaped me.
She lifts her sunglasses with one hand, sticking them into her hair on top of her head, and presses a hardcover book against her chest. “You’re late.”
“Wait, what? Did you tell me you were stopping by?” I already know the answer—she didn’t. Over the last few months, she’s returned to her old ways of popping by unannounced. It’s been years since she’s done this—halting years ago when yet another bare-chested guy in his undies greeted her at the door.
I open the door to the first floor of the tiny house. The owner, a woman younger than me, a fact my mom weasels a mention into every visit, lives on the second floor, which has a separate entrance. Mom follows me into the apartment.
“I told you I was finished with the book and would stop over to loan it to you.” She stands in the entranceway and gives my place the once-over.
I catch her judgmental eye pausing at the couch—the tossed pillows on the floor, a half-filled wine cup, and a crumbled bag of pretzels. Her nose curls up, but she decides wisely to withhold comment. “You got off at seven thirty, right?” I nod. My mom knows my schedule better than my boss. “It’s only a ten-minute walk… I was waiting.”
“I didn’t know you were coming over.” I sound like a broken record and already feel my nerves being frayed. Mom believes a person only has two lives, work and home. Once you finish with one, you should head directly and with purpose to the other.
She means well, I know she does, but no matter what the purpose of her visit is, by the time she leaves, I feel drained—less than. It’s a horrible feeling, and it always forces me to reevaluate my life. It doesn’t have to be this way. “And still it couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes.” She doesn’t relent.
“Excuse me for not racing to an empty home on a beautiful evening.”
“Hmmpf,” she grunts, her way of saying “there is so much more I want to say, but I won’t, for now.” She avoids the couch, slipping into one of the two chairs I own at a tiny folding table that serves as a desk, dining room table, and catcher of all my junk.
I race over and scoop up the pile of mail before she makes another comment. “I think you’ll like this book.” My mom isn’t subtle. When she showed up at the bookstore last week and made a big production of picking up her special-order book, I knew it would find its way to my house.
The Modern Woman’s Guide to Having It All—Home, Family and Love. “The author makes some good points. She’s on all the talk shows. She’s about your age too. Maybe you’ll listen to her.”
She pushes the book at me as if she’s handing me sacred scrolls that will give my life purpose. I don’t bother even looking at it, placing it on the table. “Thanks, I’ll add it to the pile you’ve already shared.” I pivot the conversation before she does. “Is Dad waiting for you?”
A genuine smile tugs the corner of her mouth. Dad is the one topic we do align on. Mom is in love with him like they are still newlyweds. “He’s in his woodwork shop in the garage, working on a secret project.” She giggles, and I get a peek at her younger version. “It’s a new bookcase.” She shares the secret like I’m part of her women’s group at church. “I mentioned a few weeks ago, with you working at the bookstore, I’m going to need more space for all the books I pick up whenever I go check on you.”
While Mom is overt and blatant, Dad sends his messages using subtlety and love. When I quit Driftwood without another job at the time, I came home to find ten bags of groceries on my porch, along with a gift card to my favorite takeout restaurant in town. Dad’s attached note merely said, now your mom doesn’t have to worry that you’re not eating.
I relish the moment of silence. My mistake. “Thank you for going to lunch with Margo.”
I freeze and wait. Did Margo mention Laredo to Mom? Is that the real reason she’s here? When my world turned upside down and I made the mistake of confiding in my mom, Laredo’s name slipped out. She clutched onto it and never let go.
“Did you talk to her about staying out all night?”
I exhale, not realizing I had held my breath. If Margo had mentioned Laredo, it would be the first thing out of her mouth. Good going, little sis.
“I won’t tolerate this behavior. Maybe she’ll listen to you, seeing how you did the same, and look where it’s gotten you.”
And there it is. My hand clutches my chest as if I’ve been attacked, because I have been. “What is wrong with you?” I hear my sixteen-year-old voice, and I’m back to litigating an argument that never ends.
She brushes off my question. “I’m not apologizing for wanting my daughters to stay out of trouble. Surely you want your sister to avoid the mistakes you’ve made.” She shoots a challenging glance. “I know I do.”
“Dad always taught us that we learn by doing. Failing fast, he’s always said.”
“Well, your younger self certainly nailed the part about being fast.”
My mouth hangs open at my mom’s vicious comment. I will not cry. I make a promise to myself even though her words cut deeply. “Living in bubble wrap is not the way to prepare for life.” I’ll never let her get the final word. Ever. “I would ask if you’ve ever broken a rule or ever made a mistake, but I know better than to ask.” I turn from her, unable to take her hypercritical look any longer. Every minute with her diminishes me.
“Thank you, Mom.” I point to the book that was probably written by the author’s mother. “It’s been a long day; I’m going to take a bubble bath and go to bed early.” I dismiss her without malice. After confiding in her last summer, I thought things would improve in our relationship. In some ways, they have, but not in any of the ways that matter.
“Hmmmpf.” She gives me her signature grunt. “I can take a hint. Did you get the text with the link to the job posted at the mayor’s office? Civil servant with good benefits.”
I chew on my tongue to not laugh at the image of Olivia in my head.
She once mocked my mom with an epic remix dance screeching out my mom’s words over an infectious rap beat— government job, benefits, two weeks off, subordinate, don’t ask questions, be grateful, sit down, shut up, that’s life, retire, now die.
She even changed my mom’s ringtone on my phone to the song and then would secretly text her while I was on shift at the Driftwood to call me just to see my reaction.
For two weeks, I lived in fear Olivia would create a TikTok, knowing it would go viral and my mom would become the target of online attack mobs. I felt like the world’s worst daughter because a part of me wanted it to happen.
If she’s going to torture me, I’ll respond in kind. “Two weeks off? You don’t say?” I paint on plastic excitement, knowing I’m pressing her buttons.
“Yes.” Her voice floods with delight and hope. I expect to feel some sense of satisfaction, but all I feel is guilt for manipulating a woman who is only guilty of wanting me to be self-sufficient. “After ten years, you get three weeks.”
“Oh.” I can’t play this game any longer. It no longer brings me joy, only regret. “I’ll take a look at it.”
Mom must hear the resignation in my voice. She heads toward the door. “Don’t wait too long. Life-changing opportunities don’t show up on your doorstep every day.”
I have no response. “Duly noted.”
She twists the knob, the door opening a crack before she halts. “We’re having dinner at the house on Saturday to celebrate Margo being home. It would mean the world to your dad if you showed up. We’ve not had a family dinner since Christmas.”
This is festival weekend. Concerts, parties, and events all around town all weekend. Mom knows this. It’s the true reason she picked Saturday. Margo has been home nearly two weeks already. She’s trying to keep Margo away from the festival activities. And if she can get me there, it makes it a two-for-one. She’s shameless.
“Let me see what I can do,” I don’t give her the answer she seeks, but it’s enough to get her feet moving. An argument for another day. I lean in and give my mom a soft hug.
“Honey, you know I just want what is best for you,” she whispers, and I feel her sincerity. Too bad she doesn’t know how to just say that.
“I know. But it’s my journey to discover.” I bite my tongue, afraid to say anything else. I felt lost a week ago. But since Laredo returned, things are beginning to clarify. I feel like I’m slowly rediscovering myself.
Her arms stiffen. “Fine. Your father tells me the same thing. I’m trying to understand, dear. Please don’t hate me for not.”
“Oh my god, Mom, never.” My respectful hug transforms into a tight hug. As much as Mom and I go to war, I’ve never doubted her love for me. We just have two different perspectives when it comes to life.
“Good. Because I won’t stop until you tell me you’re happy.”
She swipes at a tear. I squeeze her tighter. She sniffles and takes a step back. She lowers the large sunglasses from the top of her head, blocking half her face, and opens the door. We step out onto the stoop, and both freeze at the movement at the end of the walkway, a man approaching.
My heart stops, and I realize this tender moment with my mom is about to be erased. Laredo is marching up the walkway with a bouquet in one arm, a guitar case in the other, and a sexy smirk that gives away his intent.
“I thought you said you didn’t have any plans tonight,” Mom whispers to me, her tone practically calling me a liar. I’m too shocked to respond.
Half of me wishes to be invisible, not bear witness to Laredo and my mom crossing paths. The other half of me is doing cartwheels inside. Laredo is carrying flowers, here to continue to advocate for us as a couple.
“Mrs. Vacarro, what a pleasure to finally meet you. Betty has shown me photos.” Laredo turns his charm in my mom’s direction, not knowing the danger lurking in front of him. He extends his hand, “I’m Laredo Williams.” He says the name that I know will trigger a reaction. I hold my breath and hope she doesn’t make the connection.
Mom’s hand stops midair, and I realize hope is a horrible strategy. She shoots a distasteful glance filled with a how dare you do this again glare at me before jabbing a finger at Laredo. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here after what you did last summer.”
Her words cut so fast he never sees the knife. He’s wounded and has no clue it’s only starting. A nervous smirk skitters across his face as if he’s trying to understand if the woman he’d never met before could possibly be joking. He only needs a second to glance in my direction to read on my face that she’s not.
I’m frozen. Petrified. Unable to speak. For the second time, I watch the people I care about from two different worlds meet.
I’m not sure what I expect to see on Laredo’s face—shock, bewilderment, anger. But he gives my mom the last look I’d ever expect. A confident, prideful smirk.
“You mean returning to see the woman who gave me one of the best weeks of my life.”
My feet stumble back until my back hits the wall, the support necessary. Laredo claims me. Loudly. Proudly.
I want to bask in his version of us, but I can’t. I haven’t earned it. And the worst part is he’s about to find out why.
My mom twists her face, a throwback to a look she’d give me when I was five and sang too loudly in the back seat of the car. “Of course you’d think that because of what she gave up to you. You need to wipe that smug look of satisfaction off your pretty-boy face. You knocked up my daughter and then skipped town like a thief in the night. Pride is not the look you should carry.”
The entire world goes silent, and I wonder if I’ve died. Laredo’s mouth opens, but no sounds escape. The beautiful bouquet tumbles out of his hands down to the broken pavement. My mom continues to point and bark in his direction, but I don’t hear a sound.
My feet begin to give out. I feel myself slipping down to the ground slowly. But not before reading Laredo’s lips. Pregnant?
He turns in my direction just as my bottom hits the ground. I see his eyes widen in surprise, and then he bolts toward me.
I cover my face and pull my knees to my chest, ashamed to show my face. On my walk home from work, I had kidded myself into believing that Laredo and I might find a way to each other. I was literally dancing in the streets.
Then he met my mom.
My life will never be the same.