Mom rarely hugged me, and anytime she did, it was usually after she’d emotionally obliterated me. How fucked up was it to live for these moments?
We sat in disharmonious silence. I didn’t count the minutes, and I tried to enjoy the rare mother-daughter time. Tried not to think about what led to it.
“I almost eloped, you know,” she said absently.
I don’t think I could have spoken if someone put a gun to my head. I stared at my mother, wondering if I’d heard her correctly.
“I guess you could say he was my Theo. He worked for my father in the mailroom, because back then there was such a thing as a mailroom,” she added, raising a brow at me. “He brought me cheap chocolates and we listened to music that would make my father’s toes curl.”
A small smile curved her lips, a real smile, soft and so un-Tansy-like. I tried to imagine my mom as anyone other than the woman who sent back perfectly fine cherries. Someone who ate cheap chocolate and listened to popular music.
“What happened to him?”
It was foolish of me to hope for a happy ending. She’d married my father; obviously she hadn’t ended up with her Theo.
Still, my heart stood on tiptoes.
“He died.”
Mom spoke as if we were discussing the weather, always composed, but I was struggling to breathe. Both her husband and her first—maybe only—love had died?
“Not at first,” she continued. “But watching me marry your father killed him slowly until he wrapped his car around a tree.”
She turned to me. “I made a mistake, Abigail. I made him think we could be together, and I let him fall in love with me.”
My eyes traveled to the door, as if I could see Theo on the other side. I’d always been selfish when it came to him. Selfish to take him, selfish to keep him, selfish to want him to stay.
“Did you ever think about giving it all up for him?” I asked quietly.
“You won’t marry Theo, Abigail. You can’t be a princess and marry a pauper.”
I didn’t know what to say. I just sat in the dimly lit room, picking at my jeans. The single lamp didn’t seem like enough light for the dark words.
“I know you think I’m a villain.”
“No, I—” I attempted, but she cut me off.
“I don’t want you to be like me, Abigail. Don’t make the same mistakes. Men like Edward are dangerous only if you let them be. He isn’t like your grandfather; he isn’t cunning.” Something flickered in her eyes, something like fear, but it was gone before I could be sure.
I couldn’t help my next words. “He threatened me. He stalked me. He drugged me.”
“He’s a coward. Cowards are easy to control.”
She smiled at me.
This was the first sincere conversation I’d ever had with my mother. I couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else knew this side of her. As uncomfortable as the subject matter was, I couldn’t help wondering if we were finally getting closer.
Then she sighed. “Maybe we should send you home. It might be easier for… everyone.”
All my hopes shattered.
Send me home? So that entire conversation meant nothing? We all hated this forced family time, but it was a Crowne tradition. They were cutting me out of the family picture, and I could feel the scissors scraping along my soul with each cut.
“I can handle it,” I said. “I’ll… I’ll marry him.”
A long, palpable silence followed my words. When my mother finally spoke, it was about a completely different subject.