The Way You Make Me Feel(69)

“So Jules, tell us about your creative journey.”

I resisted laughing.

M?e settled back into the patterned cushions. “Well, since I was a child, I was always drawn to beautiful things. I grew up in Brazil, surrounded by lush tropical landscapes, and that sensibility still informs me.” I couldn’t help but wonder—informs what? Social media people always talked about “creating content.” It seemed like a catchall to legitimize careers built on taking photos of yourself in aspirational settings. But people loved it, so who was I to judge? Also? My mom grew up in S?o Paulo, a huge city that I wouldn’t exactly describe as “lush.” She continued, “Not to mention the cultural influences—Catholic icons, the people, the food, the rich layers of diversity.”

Teresa nodded intensely. “Yes, girl. So inspiring.” Huh? She barely said anything! Didn’t “journey” mean talk about actual events? But Teresa moved ahead. “What was your childhood in Brazil like?”

I knew what it was like. Her parents struggled financially running a small grocery store and were so strict and religious that my mother grew up feeling stifled and alone.

“Wild and free,” M?e said with a laugh. Huh? “You couldn’t ask for a more magical childhood. Children played on the streets. I’d be fed by the street vendors and I ran amok. It was just so liberating.”

It was hard for me to keep a straight face as she kept talking about this magical childhood of hers. My mom had hated her childhood—it was what drew her to my dad, their common ground. I knew my mom was probably lying because the reality was so depressing, and this wasn’t exactly a probing profile by the New Yorker, but still … It was so disingenuous it made me itchy.

“Speaking of liberation, do you have any plans to ‘settle down’ and work for a designer? You’d be great at branding,” Teresa said.

A little wrinkle appeared between my mom’s eyebrows. “I adore all the designers I’ve collaborated with. But I’m not sure if I could ever pick a city in the world to live in for that long, you know?” Teresa nodded in firm agreement. “I love … the world. Discovery. I get to meet different people every month or week. I guess if most people are trees—putting down deep roots—I’m like an air plant?”

“Amaaazing,” Teresa declared, her eyes closing worshipfully. I was trying not to laugh. Leave it to my mom to pick an of-the-moment hipster plant to compare herself to.

Suddenly Teresa was looking at me. “Let’s get real and talk about being a mother! How did you find time to raise such a great kid and follow your dreams?”

My skin tingled waiting for her answer. Because for sixteen years I had managed to gloss over, in my own memories, how absent my mom was. It felt like she was there because my dad made sure of it. She never missed a birthday call, gift, or holiday. But she wasn’t actually there.

“I was really young when I had Clara,” M?e said. She took a long pause. “Obviously, right?” she said with a little laugh. Teresa laughed. She had a way, my mother.

“When I moved to LA with her dad, I was so lost,” she said. And there it was. A genuine moment. “I thought that if I was a teen mom, I had to give up on my dreams. But, with Clara’s dad’s support, I was able to strike out on my own.”

If I was being resentful, I would say that was an understatement. My dad’s support? He raised me.

But everything about my mom—her uncomplicated ambitions, the superficial friendships, never leaving her comfort zone—it all reminded me of … well, me. And I understood her.

I just didn’t want to be her anymore.

As she continued the interview, a rosy revisionist history of our past, I snuck back to my villa and booked a flight home.





CHAPTER 33

“Did I do something wrong?”

I looked up at my mom while I packed a few hours after the interview. “No! You didn’t. I promise. It’s just time for me to go back home. I left a lot of things hanging.”

She sat down on the edge of my bed and nodded. “I got that feeling. Is it about that boy, Hamlet?”

I smiled. Hearing his name said by my mom was sweet. I liked her being in the loop. “Yes. But also the KoBra. Pai. Rose. I let people down.” I willed my voice not to waver as I threw my new sandals into the duffel.

M?e was quiet as she watched me pack. “I’ll miss you.” And even though my mom could be astonishingly clueless and self-absorbed sometimes, I knew I would also miss her.

“Me too.”

“You’ll miss you, too?” she joked.

I cracked a smile. “Good one.”

“I know.” She crossed her legs, turning herself into a tidy, folded little mermaid person. “So, why are you in such a rush?” I was catching a red-eye tonight to make it to LA by morning.

“Because the food truck competition is tomorrow.” I wasn’t sure if I could pull it off—I had e-mailed Rose and she’d responded immediately, saying she’d figure out a way to get the truck and meet me at the competition. I could tell she was still a little mad, but she seemed as invested in this contest as I was.

“Whoa. Bold move. Adrian was against it, right?”

Ignoring the nervous flutter against my ribs, I nodded. “Yep. But I still want to go through with it.”