My Life in Shambles(86)

Somehow my dad has gotten even more loving while I was gone. It makes me realize how much I missed him, especially after what happened with Colin. Even though the reason why I’m here is horrible, at least this is giving me another chance to work things out with my parents.

Of course, once he leads me over to the couch in the spotless living room and sits me down, I’m reminded at how much easier it is to work things out with him versus my mother. Just looking around the room and how everything is so minimal and stark and clean with sharp lines, it’s such a contrast to Shambles, which, at times was in shambles a bit. Agnes had doilies everywhere and little ceramic knickknacks gathering dust on the shelves, and crooked frames that housed Padraig’s mom’s poems, and there were so many books everywhere. It was cozy chaos but it was warm and I loved it.

I’m about to ask where my mother is when she comes out from down the hall, fluffing up the ends of her hair. I have a feeling she made herself look nice just for me.

“Sweetheart,” she says to me, throwing her arms out.

“Hi mom,” I say, getting up and giving her a light hug and preparing for the worst.

“Let me look at you,” she says, holding me at arms-length and eying me up and down.

Yep. This is the worst.

“You look so tired,” she says, wincing.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “I just got off a plane. From Ireland.”

“Plus you must be so broken-hearted. Dave!” she yells into kitchen. “Do you have any wine? I think we need some wine.”

I shake my head. “No, I’ll pass out.”

Though not a bad idea.

“Fine, Dave, I need wine!” She gives me a tight smile. “It’s better for you not to drink wine anyway, so many empty calories.”

Whatever expression I had on my face falls and I shudder internally.

This again.

But this time, I don’t want to ignore it.

“Why are you so worried about calories?” I ask her pointedly.

She frowns, taken aback. “What do you mean? We should all be worried about calories.”

“But you’re not. You’re having wine and you don’t care.”

“I used to, when I was young, when I was your age,” she says stiffly. “And it’s only because of that that I can have what I want now. When you get older, things change. You’ll see. It’s not uncommon for women to find their ideal weight when they’re in their fifties and sixties. So don’t give up.”

Is she serious?

“Don’t give up?” I say. “Mom, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t count calories anymore. I watch what I eat in a roundabout way but if I want a cookie, I’m going to have a cookie. And I’m fine with that.”

“Irene, are you harping on your daughter again?” my dad shouts from the kitchen. “She’s going through heartbreak again, be nice to her.”

I raise my brows and look at my mom like, yeah be nice to me.

But my mother just raises her chin, right away going on the defense. “I am being nice. I care about you sweetheart, that’s all this is. I worry for you.”

“Why? I’m a size twelve! I’m not obese! And even if I was, who are you to say whether I’m healthy or not! I don’t have health problems other than the fact that I was hit by a truck when I was little and I had to learn how to walk again and I have scars and pins and rods all over my fucking body!”

She flinches like I’d slapped her. “You don’t need to yell. We all know what happened to you. But you can’t use that as an excuse.”

“An excuse for what?”

She throws her hands out. “I don’t know, this,” she says gesturing to me. My eyes go wide. “Whatever you’re doing that makes all these men leave you.”

I gasp.

NO.

“What did you just say?” I ask, the words coming out as sharp as daggers.

She swallows, hesitating. “Look, sweetie. I love you. But this is the second relationship in a row that you’ve let burn to the ground. What can I say? Both Cole and this Padraig fellow were rich, handsome and respectable men and both of those relationships ended. You’re obviously doing something wrong, something that puts them off. Sooooo … maybe it’s your weight.”

I can’t even believe it.

I should believe it, but I can’t.

The fucking nerve.

She goes on, “I mean, have you seen most women your age? They’re at the gym all the time. You never go. They watch what they eat. You never do. Now, I know you can’t wear high heels because of your feet, but you could try dressing a little sexier too. Don’t you see, there are ways to improve yourself? Just try them out for once and maybe you’ll be able to change. I believe in you. I believe that you can do it.” She smiles at me.

The worst part of this is that the smile is genuine.

She actually believes all this shit.

“I think I’m fine the way I am,” I say, my words barely audible, the anger rising up through me like molten lava.

“She’s fine the way she is, Irene,” my dad says harshly as he comes over.

She spots the wine and reaches for it but he holds it back. “I’m not giving you this until you apologize to your daughter,” he says, meaning business.