Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“How can you say that?” Mom retorts.
“He’s been happier and far more settled over the past few months than he ever was with Jessica, and the way he talks about her tells me everything I need to know. He’s an adult, making adult decisions, and out of all the children you’ve raised, he’s certainly turned out the best.”
“Hanna—” I try to cut in.
“Let me finish, please,” she implores. “He’s the most successful, the most grounded, and he has never, ever been a pain in your ass. You’ve never had to bail him out of jail; he’s never borrowed money. Even as a kid he didn’t get into trouble, so have a little faith that he can make a good decision when it comes to finding someone who balances him out.”
That seems to shut everyone up for half a second. Until our mother changes the subject, which is something she likes to do, especially when she’s wrong. “Are you going through a rebellious phase?”
“I’m thirty. I make seven million dollars a year, I live in a house that’s totally paid for, and I drive a Volvo. No, Mom, I’m not going through a rebellious phase.”
She purses her lips. “I don’t know that this girl is right for you.”
“With all due respect, Mom, you’ve never even met her, so whatever opinion you think you have is based on tabloid garbage, and it’s not your responsibility to make those kinds of decisions for me since I’m an independent adult.”
“Burn,” Gerald mutters.
No one tells him to shut up, because he’s right.
She purses her lips, clearly unhappy with the direction this conversation has taken, so she switches gears. “Are you doing this because we didn’t tell you about the adoption? You know, we decided as a family to raise you and Hanna and your brother as siblings, because it was better for Hanna, and for you. Both of your lives would’ve been so much harder otherwise. We were trying to save you from the stigma all of that would have brought with it.”
I should’ve known we’d come back to this. We’ve already had a family meeting about this, but it was right after I found out. I’ve had months to process it, to think about it, reflect on it. Months to let it eat at me and fester, and suddenly, in the face of all this drama, I realize I might not be over it quite the way I thought I was.
“I get that when she was fifteen, that might have been true, Mom. But you uprooted the entire family, cut her off from all of her friends, and homeschooled Hanna for a year so no one would know that she was pregnant. Then, after she gave birth to me, you sent her to a new school with no friends and no social circle once you deemed her ready.” I pace the room, my frustration and anger mounting. “You talk about it being a family decision, but Hanna was too young to fight you on it and Gerald isn’t exactly a fan of taking responsibility for his actions. And for Christ’s sake, who lets their fifteen-year-old go away for a month with her boyfriend on a cross-country camping excursion?”
“They were in a trailer with the entire family. How would they have an opportunity to—” She makes flailing motions instead of finishing that sentence.
“They were in the woods! For four weeks. Opportunities obviously abounded, since I’m here.”
“He does have a point,” Gerald says.
I pin him with a glare, and he sinks deeper into the couch. “I understand that we grew up in a rural town, with ideas of what was appropriate and what wasn’t. I also understand your motives for raising us like siblings as a result of that. But I think you need to ask yourself this: Was it really good for Hanna, for all of us, in the long run? I get that maybe you were doing what you thought was best, but wouldn’t it have made more sense to tell me eventually, when I was old enough to understand, rather than have me find out from Hanna’s ex-asshole?”
“We were trying to protect you.”
“Are you sure it was me and Hanna you were trying to protect? Or was it yourself?”
Her head snaps back, as if my words are a physical slap. And I realize I’ve hit a nerve. I sigh, and some of the anger fades like vapor. “You know that I’ll always look at you as my mother, right? That’s never going to change.”
She blinks a bunch of times, and her chin trembles. My mother is a lot of things: high on self-righteous conviction, a meddler, a cheerleader, the dominant parent, and passionately maternal. What she rarely is is contrite; even less frequently is she emotional to the point of tears. I drop down, crouching in front of her, and take her hands in mine, seeing exactly how profound an effect this has had on her. I’m still angry, but it’s tempered with understanding I didn’t have before. “You will always be my mom, no matter what. Now I have two amazing women who want what’s best for me.” Three if I count Queenie.