Rita
I stand outside of a chic office building in downtown Dallas, willing myself not to sweat as I hide in the shade. I’m in an outfit Scar bought me for this occasion-all designer, all absurdly expensive, but too flattering not to wear. The garment bag appeared on the back of my door yesterday, and while I was tempted to throw it back in his face, I have to admit that it was an incredibly sweet gesture.
And says a lot about how well he knows me. Considering everything fits like it was tailored to my body.
Also, I look great. That helps.
I’m nervous. I want to march in there, head held high, ready to live up to Scar’s expectations and nail this interview. He offered to do some mock practice sessions, but I told him no thanks. I figured I’d only end up crying if we did that, and besides, I already sat through one interview with him already. That’s more than enough for a lifetime.
Now that I’m here, I’m tempted to turn around and go back to the apartment.
I don’t have to go in that building. If I really want to move to Boston with Scar, then I can move to Boston with Scar. There’s no rule saying I need to take this interview.
Only I don’t know how I’d look myself in the mirror if I refused.
Scar’s right-this is a dream job. It’s the sort of job that shows up once in a lifetime, if that, and it’s my opportunity to break into the outdoor gear industry. This job might not be my job for life, but it’s a first step in a fulfilling career.
If that’s what I want.
I can do this. Scar says there’s no way I’ll screw it up, Cait gave me a good pep talk, and even Janine called to wish me good luck a half hour ago. I tilt my chin up, getting myself psyched and prepped.
I’m smart. I’m strong. If I can pretend to be Scar’s wife in front of a bunch of violent gangsters, I can sit down across from the HR person in that office building, smile my ass off, and impress the hell out of them.
This is by far the least dangerous thing I’ve done lately.
And I’m still nervous.
When I finally work up the courage to head inside, running about fifteen minutes early, my phone rings. I hesitate, but pull it out, thinking it might be Scar calling to wish me luck.
Instead, it’s my mom.
I answer out of sheer surprise. I haven’t heard from her since she left for Paris what feels like forever ago. “Hello?”
“Honey!” Mom sounds chipper. “How are you?”
“I’m good. How’s Paris?”
She hesitates. “Paris? Oh, Paris! That’s right.” She laughs awkwardly. “Well, Paris was good. We were there for a couple days. Then it was Prague, Berlin, Madrid, Amsterdam. Now we’re in Rome, but I’m thinking we’ll go to Tunisia for a while, maybe out to Turkey, explore around there. Depends on what Michael and Mavis want. They’re the ones with the plane.”
“Michael and Mavis are the other two people in your quadrople?” I ask, rolling my eyes.
“Yes!” She laughs, high-pitched and awkward. I hear the clink of a glass in the background, the glug of something pouring. “Oh, honey, I should’ve called sooner, I’m so sorry. We’ve just been busy. Honestly, these last few weeks have been the best of my life. I should’ve done this sooner.”
I grind my jaw, glaring at the ground. The best of her life. Should’ve done this sooner.
Should’ve taken my college fund and disappeared with my father, abandoning me in Dallas with a mountain of debt.
Should’ve skipped out of America for Europe right as my apartment burned to the ground.
Should’ve forgotten to call me.
“I’m fine, by the way,” I say, trying to keep the acid from my tone, but failing.
“That’s good, hon,” she says with a dreamy sigh. “Listen, let me tell you about Rome. So last night-”
“Mom,” I say, cutting her off. “You remember that my apartment burned down, right? You promised me fifty bucks, but only sent half?”
She’s quiet for a second. “Oh, shit. With everything going on-”
“Right, you forgot, I get it. Well, guess what? I got married.” I shouldn’t tell her this, but suddenly I want to throw it in her face. “I met a man and we’re married now. You didn’t know that, did you? Because you don’t know a thing about me. You and Dad took my college money-”
“Honey, that was our money-”
I don’t know why I’m starting this now of all times, but I can’t help myself.
“You took it and you disappeared,” I say over her, giving in to my anger. “And you know what hurts the most? Ever since you two moved to Florida, you’ve been so much happier. Without me.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “You think it’s like that?” she asks softly.
“That’s how it feels. You screwed me into taking out huge student loans, abandoned me, and the worst part is, you’ve both been so much better off. What is it about me that makes your life so hard?” I bite down on my lip to keep from crying. I can’t screw up my makeup, not when I have an interview, which I should be heading inside for right about now.
Mom’s silent for a long pause. I hear her take a sip of wine before she answers. “It was never you, honey. It was never, ever about you. I love you, Rita. Maybe it doesn’t feel that way right now, but I do. You were so, so hard as a little kid, but I wouldn’t go back to change a single thing. It’s only that, your father and I both gave up a lot to be parents, and one day we realized that time was rushing past, our lives were leaking away, and we weren’t going to get anything back. It was either do something drastic or lose the chance. I wish I had done this earlier, when I was still your mom, you know? Maybe you could’ve come along for the ride, but it’s hard when you’re a parent. There’s so much fear.”
I swallow against the lump in my throat. “You’re happier now though? Without me?”
“Not without you,” she says firmly. “I’m happier doing what brings me joy though. I know all of this quadrople and swinging stuff is really weird. You think I don’t know? This whole thing’s been so bizarre, but so fun and good. It’s the happiest your father and I have been in a while, only I wish I could share it with you. That’s why I force myself to talk about it. But it’s too weird, right?”
“That’s why you tell me about it?” I blink in surprise. I always assumed she talked about it because she was selfish-but could she really be trying to keep me in her life? By over sharing?
“What, you think I like talking to my daughter about my sex life? God, Rita, it’s mortifying, but I miss you, and I love you, and I want to share my life with you as much as I can. I’m sorry I’ve been a shitty mom lately. I know I haven’t been there when you needed me. I promise I’ll try to be better. But please, honey, listen to me, if you learn anything from my stupid mistakes, learn this. Do the things that make you feel good. After years of compromise, that’s what I figured out. No more compromise. I want you to do the same, okay? Find your joy. Don’t be scared of it, no matter how strange. No more compromise.”
I nod, even though she can’t see it. “I miss you, Mom. I even miss Dad. Tell him to call me sometime.”
She laughs. “I will, but you know your father.”
“Man of no words.”
“Exactly. But he’ll call, I promise.” She clears her throat. “I love you, Rita. I love you so much. No more compromises, okay?”
“I love you too, Mom.” I let out a breath. “I’ve got to go. I have a job interview.”
“Really? Where?”
“A climbing company called Appalachian Peaks.”
“Are you excited for it?”
“I’m really excited,” I say, grinning to myself. “It’s like a dream job, honestly.”
“Then go in there and kill it. I love you. Good luck.”
“Bye, Mom.”
I hang up, standing in the silence, getting myself together. I do some breathing exercises to calm down, centering myself.
No more compromises.
I’m happy Mom called. I’m not going to forgive her anytime soon-she’s got a lot of work to do before I trust her to be a decent mother again-but knowing she’s telling me all this gross stuff because she misses me actually kind of helps. I feel like I know her better now, and she makes more sense.
No more compromises. I kind of like that as a mantra.
And not going into this interview, not going after a job I know would be like a dream-
That would be a compromise.
I steel myself. Raise my chin in the air.
And march toward that office, ready to slay.