34. Lucy
The last timethat I saw Sunny, I was fourteen. It was Christmas time, and we had run into each other at the General Store. A bottle of Cabernet was clutched in one hand and a stack of fashion magazines were in another. The true delicacies of Sunny Collins.
My mother scanned me from head to toe, I could feel the judgment seep out of her practically non-existent pores as she zeroed on into the scarf I was wearing. Tiffany had knitted it for me. It was the same winter that I learned how to knit thanks to her. But to my mother, if it wasn’t designer, garments were meant to live in the trash.
I admire her for all her hard work. She has what she has in life because she worked day and night for them—trust me, I know that firsthand. But the materialistic lifestyle with the money and the houses and the kind of clothes she wore or the cars she drove was more meaningful to her. I never understood it considering it wasn’t always like that for her, for us.
She wouldn’t know what it was like to be humble if it hit her in her botched Botox face. There were nights of pulling everything from the pantry to create dinner or calling friends to see if they had hand-me-downs so I had something to wear when the weather changed. A way of life that she associates with shame, is a life I am lucky to have lived.
You can work hard for your future while remaining grateful for where you came from. That was a concept she never grasped and she was willing to hurt anyone in the crossfire. Point blank period, I am living proof of that.
“Upstairs, now,” I demand. I was not going to let her intimidate me. I wasn’t the avoidant little girl she once knew, always afraid of upsetting mommy dearest.
With a sly grin, she walked ahead of me. Her Jimmy Choo pointy-toe pumps clicked with every step she took up the stairs. Her footsteps were a siren—a warning signal. A packed coffeehouse and of course, she had to be the loudest one in the room.
I waited while she punched in the door code to her condo. I used to think it was the coolest thing living up above a coffee shop. I saw people do it all the time in my favorite TV shows and movies. Once I reached my teenage years, I was hopeful that with Jitters becoming my favorite coffee shop to study at, I’d get to see my mom around. She’d have a reason to see me. But that’s when I learned she no longer resided here—at least not full-time.
She kicked off her velvet pumps and unbuttoned her blazer. “Would you—” she started out.
I held my hand up, stopping the bullshit that was bound to come out of her mouth before it even began. “No, no. I’ll start. California. You’ve been telling people I am in California?”
She shrugged her shoulders. There was a smugness about her action.
“Arizona, Mother!”
“Alright, whatever. How was I to know? I’m rarely here. I spend more time in the city, anyway. This is merely a tax write-off. For all I knew, you were back here. But, hey, it seems like you are.”
At least she didn’t pretend to be an active part of my life. She admitted that she didn’t know where I’d been or what I’d been doing. I’d give that to her.
“You’re unbelievable,” I said under my breath. Not hushed enough, but I didn’t care anymore.
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah. You. You’re unbelievable. I am here to sell the cottage. I haven’t been here since Grandma passed. I couldn’t bring myself to,” my voice cracked on the last bit. “If you must know, I didn’t want to risk running into you and tainting every feeling I had towards this town.”
She walked away, avoiding eye contact with me as she made her way into her room. I followed after her in a huff. She fanned through the clothes in her closet. The top shelves were lined with an overstock of designer bags, all with original tags still attached. She and I share looks, but that’s where the resemblance stops. I am nothing like my mother.
“That makes two of us,” she said into her row of Lululemon shirts hanging up. “Why do you even care?” She spun around. “This town is a dead end. Everyone is always in everyone’s business, they care way too much.”
Oh, the fucking horror to have someone care.
I was paralyzed in the doorframe of her closet, watching her act as if this were normal. Act as if I wasn’t even here. But she wasn’t acting, that’s just it.
“I found the boxes that Tiff had hidden away,” I finally said. Her hands froze before they fell to her side. She stared off into her clothes in front of her as her face turned red.
“What are you talking about?” she said flatly.
Sunny Collins pretending something doesn’t exist when she doesn’t want to deal with it? I expected nothing less.
I walked up beside her, inches from her side profile, and whispered into her ear. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” I could see the hairs on the back of her neck standing at attention.
She angled herself toward me now, her breathing on the side of my face sent shivers down my spine. I had entered a sparring match and there was no telling who would win. It was like there wasn’t even a person behind the mask that was her face. It was a cold, heartless body that stared back at me. But then she said, “I’m not sorry,” and then pushed past me and headed back for the kitchen. She pulled out all sorts of vegetables, a knife, and a cutting board, and started chopping away.
The blade of her knife struck the cutting board and she continued as if this was a conversation we have had time and time before. I watched as she prepared her food. I might as well be invisible. At this moment, I wish that I was. I had an awful taste in my mouth as I fought back tears. This was who she was, who I’d always known her to be. Why is this all of a sudden so hard for me to process?
She slammed the knife down and shot her head towards me. “What do you want me to say? Like I said, I’m not sorry. I never liked that she kept those photos, I didn’t want you to know. You want to be mad at someone?” She jutted her chin out. “Be mad at your grandmother. Oh wait, you can’t. She’s dead.”
“Fuck you!”
“Fuck you!” She waved her hands above her head.“I never even wanted you. Is that what you wanted to hear? That’s why you don’t know about your father. He knocked me up the summer before college, but I never wanted a kid.” She was on a roll, now. “I did want him, though. He promised me the world, that just meant you had to be a part of it. I guess he caught on.” She picked back up her knife and chopped away at her cucumbers. “He told me I was miserable to be around, whatever that means, and he broke it off with me. But he still wanted you.” She pointed the knife towards me. “I wasn’t going to let that happen.” She resumed her cooking with an emotionless grin across her face. “I couldn’t have who I loved, so neither could he. He knows you exist and hasn’t even come looking for you. So, what does that say about him?”
I walked very slowly over to her, though it felt like my knees could buckle at any moment. A force of anger, hurt—something took over me. I never truly wish ill on anyone, and would never want to physically hurt someone, but next thing I know I am grabbing her face in my hand, pinching her chin between my thumb and finger. I stared deep into her eyes while the skin beneath my grip turned whiter than her already fair complexion.
But I didn’t care that I could be hurting her, I knew that vampires could heal themselves quickly. “I want nothing to do with you. You are not my mother. I am not your daughter. You got your wish, you no longer have a kid.” I released her face from my grip, whipping her head back straight, and walked away from her.
Once the door shut behind me, I felt my chest close in and my legs turn numb, but I knew I had to get as far away as possible from her. I dragged my hands along the wall, my eyes blurry, and managed to find the top of the stairs. I centered myself in the doorframe. The music inside my mother’s apartment turned on and I could hear her singing at the top of her lungs.
She felt no remorse. No shame. She now had a reason to celebrate. Her life’s biggest secret had been revealed and she didn’t even have to lift a finger or utter a word. That hard part was already done for her the moment I found that box. Just my luck, right?
I don’t regret finding out the truth. I regret thinking I’d ever get a different version of my mother once I spoke to her about it. But I couldn’t help but wonder if she would have ever been honest with me. Would she have come clean about not wanting me had I not run into her? Doubtful.
I always knew I was a thorn in her side by simply existing. But I factored in the stress of starting at a new law firm or trying to be a single mother. It was always more than that, though. And now I know. I’m glad that I know.
I ran down the stairs and out towards Sawyer who was leaning against the bed of his truck waiting for me. I fell into his arms, never wanting to leave him. The looming blanket that my mother has had me under for all these years disintegrated the second I walked out the doors and into his arms.