Chapter Thirty-Four

Nina

It's been weeks since the wedding. Weeks since I last saw Brayden, since I've re-blocked all his calls.

Weeks where I have spent every minute since craving his connection, yearning for his touch, wishing I could hear his voice tell me this will all work out in the end.

It's been weeks since Jordy's last words to me, even though I've texted her numerous times to express how sorry I am. I know no amount of apologies will ever get her to forgive me, because I wouldn't forgive me. Still, I keep trying. I even found out the amount of her non-refundable deposit she put on the wedding venue and sent her a check in the exact amount. The check was cashed. The letter of apology plus a plea to talk was sent back, "return to sender" in huge red letters on the re-sealed envelope.

I'm stuck in a shame spiral, but I refuse to dip into darkness or resort to isolation. During Claire's and Ethan's honeymoon to the Caribbean, Maren brought their son Finn over to help paint the walls of my house in vibrant colors. I even reserved one wall for free paint, and we all took turns making messy art with only our fingers and happy, gloppy hues of paint. When the happy couple returned, the three of us girls held cooking parties with wine for Claire and me, and sparkling water with a splash of tonic for Maren. We watched all the cult classics on my grandma's old DVD player, though I hid the one of Practical Magic .

I'm not sure I'll ever be able to watch that movie again.

The brightest spot of the past few weeks is the perfect building Mac found for my new shop. I purchased it in a hurry, and the business license is currently in process. I named it Polka Dots after Nanna Dot, because it's her money that's made this possible. Now I get to improve the space on my own, since Jordy is no longer speaking to me.

Which is why I'm here past 10 p.m., with a bottle of wine, a Bluetooth speaker playing my favorite music, and a paint roller. I went with yellow since it makes me so happy. Never mind that it was the color of the dress I was wearing the night my life went to hell; I'm taking it back and painting the walls around me with it.

Painting is kind of like meditation, and I lose myself in the broad strokes and careful edging. I'm so lost in the project, I nearly leap out of my skin when I hear the light knocking on the glass door. Fumbling with the paint roller, I look toward the door to see my mom standing there, a bag of food in her hand.

The only reason I'm letting her in is because I'm starving.

"What do you want?" I ask as I open the door. "How did you know I was here?"

"I'm not supposed to tell you," she says, which I understand to mean that Jordy told her. She's the only one in the family I've told through my unanswered texts. At least she's reading them.

"How is Jordy?" I ask, and my mom shakes her head as if she won't tell me. But then she leans forward, as if to keep what she's about to say secret from the hundreds of people around us in this empty space.

"Not so high and mighty anymore," she says, almost gleefully.

My mom is an awful gossip. Both she and Aunt Lil are. So it's not surprising she finds amusement in this situation. In the past, I've glommed onto this, feeling a sense of connection when she shares gossip with me. But this time, I recognize the sickness in it, the way it's a source of power for her—an ugly one at that.

"Mom, she just found out her whole relationship is a lie. That's hardly something to feel happy about."

My mom looks shocked for a moment, then narrows her eyes. "That's rich, coming from you. You're actually correcting my behavior when you're the harlot who stole her fiancé?"

I pause for a moment, taking in the words she's spitting at me. They just don't have the same impact. I've beat myself up over this for weeks. For months! I'm so damn tired. I can't take back what I did, and I know it was wrong, but my mom has been calling me these names since long before they were true, and frankly, it's just getting tiresome.

I tilt my head at her, offering a look of confusion on my face. "Harlot? Is that one of those old-timey words?"

She bites her lip, and I think she's going to be mad. But then I realize she's fighting a laugh. Finally she loses it, and all I can do is watch with bewilderment as she is practically crying from laughing so hard.

"Oh honey, I needed that." She wipes at her eyes, still laughing. "That's what your grandmother used to call me. I hated that word because of the way it made me feel. I can't even believe I used it now. God, I sound just like her." She sighs out a breath. "I'm sorry, I came over here to find out how you're doing after all that drama."

"Drama. That's what we're calling it?" I ask. "Mom, I slept with Jordy's fiancé. We were getting ready to make it official. But Jordy found out before we were ready, and now I've lost everyone. So how am I doing? I'm doing pretty awful. I'm alone in that old house, I've lost the last person in this family who cared about me, and I have no one to blame but myself. So, things aren't that great right now."

"Jordy and Brayden weren't going to last," my mom breezes out. "Those two were night and day. They couldn't have been more different."

"That's not the point, Mom." Then I pause. "Wait, why are you even defending me? Just a second ago, you were calling me a harlot. Now you're acting like she deserved it."

"I guess, I…" She trails off. "I just realized…" She stops again. "Look, your Uncle Dan had some words for both Lil and me after the whole wedding. We all saw what happened, and how it affected both of you. When he found out that I didn't talk to you after Jordy found out … well, you know … he told me I was an awful mother. I tried to argue with him, but I've had some time to think, and I realized that I could have done a few things better."

"That's an understatement," I mutter.

"The point is," she says, ignoring me, "you're right that you shouldn't have slept with Jordy's fiancé, but you're hardly the worst person in the world because of it. Hell, how do you think I got your father?"

"You stole Dad from another woman?" This is the first time I'm hearing this story, and I'm floored.

"Well, he was with Kitty Majors, who was seriously the most annoying person in our class. I did him a favor by dodging that bullet."

"Mom, that's terrible," I say, but I'm also laughing. It's not quite as bad as carrying on a relationship with my cousin's fiancé, but it does soften my shame about it. Then I recall the earlier part of our conversation. "Nanna Dot called you a harlot?"

"Oh lord, she called me worse. Honestly, that woman's sole purpose was to make my sister's and my life miserable. She couldn't be happy, so she made sure we weren't either. Oh, here," she remembers the bag she brought and pushes it toward me. "I picked up some burgers on the way because that's all that's open right now."

I peer in the bag and see two greasy burgers and two orders of French fries from Sonic. I know they serve salads too, so the fact that she ordered the burgers instead is a shock.

"Who are you, and what have you done with my mother?"

"I know," she groans. "But I've been meaning to check on you since Dan read both Lil and me the riot act, and figured these made a better peace offering than health food."

"This is not like you," I say, but I dig in anyways. One thing these past couple weeks have taught me is that I am my own best advocate, and I know what's best for me. Including food. I will never be good enough in my mother's eyes, so why am I trying so hard? Why try with any of them? I can eat what I want, especially if it makes me happy.

That said, this burger is the first junk food I've had in weeks. In my efforts to avoid slipping into that deep dark place, I've been reaching for healthier meals, and even taking walks and practicing yoga. I figured I could fight the doldrums by taking care of my body. I have no idea what I weigh, though, nor do I care. I threw my scale out last week, and I'll be damned if I bring another into my house.

But right now, after weeks of balanced meals, this burger tastes like heaven. "Damn," I say after another mouthful.

My mom, with her own burger, nods in agreement. "I get why you eat this crap all the time."

"About that," I say, setting my burger down and grabbing a napkin. "I need you to stop commenting on my food. "

"But I—"

"No, Mom. I'm twenty-seven years old, and I've been affected by your comments for almost all of them. It needs to stop. You don't get to say anything if I eat junk food, and you don't get to comment if I'm eating healthy. You also don't get to talk about my body, good or bad. It's none of your business what I eat, or how much space I take up. So please stop."

My mom is quiet for a moment, then closes her eyes and sighs. "Damn it," she mutters, then she looks at me. "I don't know why I didn't see this before. I am so sorry." There's a look on her face that seems both faraway and ashamed, and I realize something I never saw before, either.

"Did Nanna Dot tell you that you were fat?"

"Fat, lazy, stupid. You name it. There was one summer that I ate only one meal a day and got down to eighty-nine pounds. I was practically bones, but she pinched the loose skin at my hips and told me she'd never marry me off since I was so fat."

My mouth drops at this. I try to reconcile my mom's description with the Nanna Dot I knew. My grandmother was plump and matronly, full of smiles and always ready with warm cookies. She listened to me for hours when I cried about boys, or friends, and especially about my mom. She was always on my side, and would tell me that my mother had no clue how to raise a daughter the right way.

I thought I was lucky to have her, someone who listened and understood how cruel my mother was—and my mother was cruel. But never once did my grandmother defend her, or say anything nice about my mom at all.

The pieces start shifting into place.

"Mom, tell me about your childhood."

So she does. What she describes is so eerily similar to mine, but so much worse because she didn't have a father who evened things out, and her mother seemed to have no warmth for her daughters at all. They'd been left a lot of money to survive when my grandfather died, but it was at a time when women didn't have the same rights as men. My mom spoke of Nanna Dot with some compassion, recognizing how hard it must have been to raise two girls when she couldn't even get a credit card in her name. But also, my grandmother rode my mom and Aunt Lil hard, making them feel like they were never good enough. In return, they had daughters they raised with the lessons they learned.

The cycle continued.

"The nail in the coffin was my mother's inheritance," my mom says, and I feel something strange in my chest.

"Mom, I never told Nanna Dot to make me her sole heir. I didn't even know I was named in her will. I never thought she would die, so I didn't think of her inheritance. But I assumed everything was going to you and Aunt Lil. When I was named heir of her estate and fortune, it was just as much of a surprise as it was to you."

"I know," my mom says.

"Wait, you knew?" I'm suddenly filled with so much heat, so much anger. "You ran my name through the mud. You told everyone that I stole our family money by manipulating an old woman. But you knew why I was there and wouldn't even acknowledge your part in that!" I clench my fists, the rage coursing through me as years of unnecessary hurt roll through my mind. "I moved in with Nanna at your suggestion because you didn't know how to handle a rape victim." My mom flinches at the word. "That's right, Mom. Rape. I was raped. I did not spread my legs for those guys, they forced them open. Then, one by one, they forced themselves on me. I was not a whore for what happened. I was a victim."

"Nina, please." She reaches forward and clutches my hands. I try to wrench them free, but she holds tight.

"You made me feel like I was worthless," I scream, but now I'm crying. "Then you shipped me off to Nanna Dot's like I was ruined goods, like you couldn't even look at me anymore. You made me keep it a secret from everyone else, as if what happened to me was catching. I felt ashamed and rejected, and ever since then, you have rubbed my face in it. You've told me I'm worthless. You've made me feel disgustingly huge and incredibly small. You… You… You…" I sob and she pulls me forward into her arms. I resist for just a moment. But it's almost like Nanna Dot is there, her plump arms wrapping around me, smoothing my hair, telling me I'm perfect the way I am. Except it's my mother's slim arms around me. It's her hand that smooths my hair, and her voice that tells me I'm perfect, that she's sorry she ever said anything less, and that she promises to be a better mother.

I cry, letting my mother comfort me, the conflict swinging through me like a goddamn pendulum. I'm comforted by her. I'm so angry with her. I don't know how to feel.

Eventually my sobs ebb, and I pull away to wipe my face.

"There's no excuse," my mother says. "I didn't have the tools, and I was so angry about what happened, and I just… I handled it in the worst way possible. I'm so sorry, Nina."

"I don't know what to say. I can't trust you," I say.

"I can understand that," my mom says. "I wouldn't trust me either. I think I didn't realize what I was doing to you until this very moment. Rather, I did, but I didn't know how to turn it off. It's like I got into this horrible habit with you, unsure how to handle you and what you went through. I knew it wasn't your fault, and yet…" She shakes her head, wipes her eyes. "Fuck," she breathes, and I'm momentarily shocked by her profanity. My mother never swears. "I'm just like her, aren't I? "

"I don't know," I say, because I don't.

She looks around at the place then, her expression one of discomfort. "Polka Dots, huh?"

I know she's trying to escape what she did to me by changing the subject, but I'm starting to realize I didn't know everything about my grandmother. The way my mother raised me, it came from what she knew. The fact that it was Nanna Dot who taught this to her…

I'm having a hard time reconciling it. The grandmother I knew was loving and compassionate. She listened to me, and brought me back to feeling human after what those guys did to me. But she was also horrible to my mother and Aunt Lil, who in turn, were horrible to Jordy and me.

In this, I can find a seed of compassion for my mom, knowing that she's experienced what I have. Maybe she didn't know any better.

Maybe Nanna Dot chose to compensate for her past mothering by being the exact guardian I needed in a time when I had no one.

"I figured since I bought this with Nanna Dot's money," I say, then wince as I realize how that sounds. "I mean, it shouldn't have been all mine. That was a really crappy thing for your mom to do to you and Aunt Lil."

"It's why she did it," my mom muses. She shakes her head, a small, sad smile on her face. "She wrote my sister and me out of the will. That was a message. But she put a period on it by naming only one of our daughters as heir. I think she figured we'd hate each other just as much as we hated her."

"Did you?" I ask.

"At first, but…."

"But the blame was put on me, giving you all a common enemy." I sigh, still so angry, but also just tired. "That was pretty shitty."

My mom nods in agreement. "I'll ask your forgiveness, but I'll understand if you don't give it. "

I think of Jordy then, who's harboring a grudge against me, and has every right to. Yet, I'm hoping time will soften her heart and help us one day rekindle the trust and closeness we once had.

"I need more than words, Mom. I need action. I need a relationship with you. I need you to get to know me again, and I want to get to know you. So I'm willing to try."

She folds me in her arms again, and this time, I know it's all her. How lucky we are to get this chance to start over, because she never got that with her mother. Even though we have such a long way to go, I can't help but believe we'll get there—that the potential is there.

"I love you, Bug," she says, kissing the top of my head.

"I know," I say. I love her too. I'm just not ready to say it yet.