Chapter 25

25

"I cannot believe your mom is famous!" Elaine gushes, wide-eyed and absorbed in her iPad. She's been looking up articles about my mom for the last half hour, with Izzy and Freya on either side of her leaning over to see the screen. Occasionally, they'll read out a snippet in awe or ask me excited questions.

Have I met Alison Hammond, too? What about Adele, from that event she and my mom were both at? How cool it would be if I'd gotten a selfie with Adele! Why didn't I work at my mom's consultancy firm for the summer? Did I know she was collaborating with Arrowmile? Is it true that she's going to fill in for Karren in some episodes of the next season of The Apprentice ?

I hate this. I hate it so much I want to scream. I want to smash the entire dish of pasta bake I've just taken out of the oven on the kitchen floor and then smash Elaine's iPad, too.

I do my best to tune them out.

This isn't Elaine's fault. It's not Izzy's or Freya's or anybody's, except Mom's.

It's not mine. Definitely not. I don't have to tell people. I'm entitled not to, all things considered.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Elaine presses, twisting around on the sofa to look at me, her head tilted to one side and a confused smile on her face. I turn away, and keep my back to her as I plate the food. I think we must eat variations of pasta bake about four times a week, but it's always so easy to cook for a group.

"I don't see her much," I say, wondering how careful I need to be. This is never usually a problem, as I just don't tell people about my mom. When I talk about my parents, I mean Dad and Gina. "She and my dad split up when I was six, so…"

So she didn't want to be around us anymore. So she was finally free from the burden we so obviously were and flitted off to indulge in her fancy career. So she doesn't care.

"Oh," Freya says, not unkindly. "Well, that's not surprising you don't see her very much. She's a busy lady. I can't believe how successful she is. She's done so much!"

Yeah. Tons. But "mother" doesn't feature in her list of accolades.

"You must be really proud of her," Izzy says.

Am I?

In another life, I think I would've been. If she'd tried, I could have been. But when I think about her spectacular career, all the exciting things she's done, there's only resentment—and even that has faded to background noise, after almost thirteen years. At some point, I stopped caring, just like she did. Maybe it's a trait that runs in the family.

I shrug, and answer as honestly as I can. "I guess it's impressive. I just don't know her all that well. She's not the kind of mom you call to tell about your day."

"I bet she's so cool," Izzy sighs, missing my point.

Elaine obviously picks up on it, though, because she says, a little more gently, "That must be hard, with her being so busy and not being able to see you very much."

Immediately, my eyes well up and I have to squeeze them shut and bite the inside of my cheek before a sob breaks out. I've been on edge since I let myself cry in the toilets this afternoon; I'm sure if someone had forgotten to say "thanks" to me for holding a door, I'd have broken down crying again. I swallow the lump in my throat and take a breath, not answering until I'm sure my voice won't shake.

"Sure. But if I had the choice between hanging out with me or Adele, I'd want to hang out with Adele, too."

The girls laugh, not seeming to notice when I don't join in. I still need a few seconds to get a handle on my emotions.

This is getting out of hand. I told myself that first day that Lloyd wasn't going to ruin this internship for me, and now, I can't let Mom ruin the rest of my summer. This was supposed to be a chill evening in, just hanging out while Louis is out on another first date, part of my resolution to not waste this summer and have a little fun. I won't let her ruin this.

I won't.

—

By lunchtime the next day, I have a better grip on myself. My tears eventually turned to righteous anger last night, and today I've woken up determined and immovable.

Or at least— I will be determined and immovable.

I'm wearing one of my favorite office outfits: a plain navy A-line dress with short sleeves. It goes nicely with my new necklace from Gina.

I've agreed to meet Mom downstairs at reception. Replying to her message about when and where to meet made me notice the handful of messages I've mostly ignored over the last few weeks. They leave a sour taste in my mouth.

She strides into the lobby twelve minutes late, with a smile and no apology.

"All right, darling? All ready to go?"

No, I'm just waiting here with my bag and cardigan, standing around doing nothing for no good reason.

I am immovable. She won't faze me, not today. I won't let her.

"Yes. But I don't have very long now."

She starts to dismiss me before realizing I'm deadly serious, so she puts on a forced smile instead and says, "Well, we'd better be off, then. Come on, I've booked us a table at a lovely little place around the corner."

It's a brisk seven-minute walk to the restaurant where Mom's booked a table, a cute and airy Italian place with a delicious aroma that envelops us as soon as we walk through the door. The decor seems thoughtful, chosen with care. It's the kind of place I'd normally avoid, where starters probably cost as much as a main course almost anywhere else.

A man in a crisp black uniform shows us to a table, hands us menus, and asks for our drink orders. Mom gets a raspberry lemonade. I have tap water.

When he leaves us to peruse the menus, Mom immediately sets hers down. She perches her elbows on the table and folds her hands under her chin, leaning forward with a smile.

"I'm so glad we got the chance to do this, Anna. I wasn't sure if I'd get to see you."

"Well, you've seen me." I bite my tongue for a moment, but then decide I need to know. "Did you purposely come to Arrowmile just to see me?"

Mom sighs, looking a bit sheepish. "No. This has been in the works for a while now, but your dad told me where you were doing your internship. I hoped I might bump into you. If the meeting yesterday went well, my plan was to let you know I might be around, so we could have a bit of a catch-up."

"A bit of a catch-up?" I can't help but gape, incredulous, almost on the verge of laughter. "What, like you're a friend from school I haven't seen since we set off for college last year? You're not my friend, you're supposed to be my mom. "

"Darling, I have been trying—"

"Is that what you call it, when you text me once in a blue moon?"

Her lips purse, and she draws a breath before saying slowly, in what must be the most patronizing tone she can muster, "Anna, I know you took it very hard when your father and I divorced, but you can't begrudge me my own life. I've been trying very hard to reconnect with you…"

It's selfish. It's mean and patronizing and selfish. It makes me feel eleven years old, with Dad telling me apologetically that Mom can't make it for Christmas. It takes me back to the school play in junior year and how even though I didn't want her there, even though I knew she wouldn't be, I still strode out to take my mark on the stage and looked out into the audience of parents and friends and siblings, searching for her like she might have made it after all.

It makes the back of my eyes prickle with the threat of yet more tears. I force them away, aware of how hard and loud my breathing has become and that I'm not even listening to her anymore, annoyed by just the tone of her voice, when the waiter interrupts with our drinks.

"Are you ready to order?"

"Gosh, sorry! I haven't even looked yet! Do you mind giving us a few more minutes? Thanks ever so."

Thanks ever so. Who does she sound like? Her voice has taken on an affected accent over the years; maybe it's a side effect of all the fancy, high-profile people she rubs shoulders with. I swear she didn't sound like this when I was little.

"I don't want to fight," Mom says, putting on another smile. She reaches over to give my hand a squeeze. "Let's just have a nice lunch, shall we? You can tell me all about this internship of yours! I've heard only good things about it. It's supposed to be terribly difficult to get a place on," she adds, eyebrows raised. "I'm surprised you managed it!"

Maybe she wouldn't be, if she had bothered to show up for parents' evening or taken an interest in my life and wanted to know how school and college were going.

I don't reply, my throat tight. I don't trust my voice right now; I don't trust myself not to scream if I do open my mouth. And I don't want to cry—I don't want her to think she can comfort me. She doesn't get to do that, swan in and act the hero when it's all her fault in the first place.

Mom isn't deterred by my silence, though. She draws her hand back but keeps on beaming at me, persistent with her "questions" and making the most of this sickeningly sweet mother-daughter bonding session she's cornered me into.

"Your dad says you've been doing a super job of it, though. Working hard. Like me!"

Not like you. Never like you.

"And he said you've made some good friends, too? Better than those nasty girls you were living with last year in halls, always cutting you out or putting you down for no reason."

What do you know? Don't act like you know about anything in my life, with this information Dad's fed you.

"The interns sound like a good bunch, though. Hard workers, too. Ambitious! I bet that's nice, to make some new friends in different places—you're never too young to start building up a bit of a network, Anna. That'll help you heaps when you graduate, I bet…. Your dad said the girl you live with is very nice? You did an escape room together?"

Maybe I should treat this conversation like an escape room. Find a code word on the back of the menu that I can shout so someone lets me out of here.

"And that boy yesterday. Topher's boy—what was his name?"

"Lloyd," I mutter through my teeth.

"That's it! He seems great, doesn't he? Ever so polite. Topher said he gets really involved with all the business. Now, he'll be a good contact to keep hold of when you graduate."

"I'm not collecting business contacts like Pokémon, Mom. They're my friends."

"Well, yes, I know that. I just meant—"

"I know what you meant."

She frowns, her too-wide smile finally starting to slip. That little give is a chink in her armor. Her forehead crumples, sadness tingeing the creases around her eyes and the edges of her mouth.

"I don't think you do, Anna. What I mean is, I know you're very ambitious, like I am. You really apply yourself and give it your all when you take on something. You practiced your golf for weeks for your role as Jordan Baker in the Gatsby play at school, for heaven's sake, and you didn't even need to play golf in the performance!"

How does she know that?

How much has Dad been telling her, behind my back?

"And while it's lovely you're making friends, it's also good to keep them in mind for the future, especially if they end up being only short-lived friendships because it's convenient while you're on the internship together. I didn't suggest you were using them for their future networking potential!" She laughs, an obvious attempt to lighten the mood again. It doesn't work.

This time, she takes a bit more notice when I stay silent.

"Anna? What is it, what did I say? You look grumpy as anything. You look like your dad when you pull that face, youknow."

"I'm not ambitious like you are."

"Oh, darling! Don't be so hard on yourself. Of course you are. Look at all the clubs you did at school! And that programing module you did last year at college. You got into this internship program, didn't you? I'd say you're very ambitious. Just like I was at your age, wanting to get involved in anything and everything—"

"I mean, not like you. I'm not doing this to be selfish, and I'm not doing it without caring what it's doing to other people. I'm not doing all this stuff just so I can boast about it to everyone and make myself look better than them."

Just so I can boast about it to people who might give me a job. But that's different.

"I'm ambitious so I can get a good job and do everything right and so I don't have to abandon my family like you did. Not so I can sit in for Karren Brady on The Apprentice. "

She whispers, in a very small and faraway voice, "That's not quite confirmed yet."

"See? You just don't care! Do you? You never did! But, what, now you think I'm successful enough, you want to take the credit for it? Boast about how you've got an ambitious daughter just like you to make yourself seem even better in the papers and stuff?"

I've always secretly hoped Mom would notice the things I posted online and see how well I was doing without her—in spite of her. But this isn't satisfying like I thought it would be. It just makes me resent her.

Mom stares at me, aghast. "Anna!"

The waiter has approached our table again, but I notice him hesitate, thinking better of stepping into the middle of this rightnow.

I gather up my bag and cardigan, hands trembling as they ball into fists around my things. "If you were thinking of giving me an early birthday present, I think I'd like the same as I had for my sixteenth birthday—for you to leave me alone. "

I'm shaking as I stand up, and do my best to hold my head high as I storm out without ordering lunch. Mom is standing, too, and calls after me, but I ignore her. She ignored me for long enough, didn't she? Maybe she should know what it feels like.

I would never speak to Gina like this.

But what good is having an absentee mother who suddenly wants to treat you like a grown-up if you can't talk back to her?