Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” I said back. “I’m just trying to remind you that it’s my money, it’s my life, and if you’re making plans, you need to tell me. I’m not a kid anymore.”
She exhaled and rolled her eyes, sitting back down. “Where is all this boldness when we’re in front of other people? You are always too timid and quiet with them. Then you come and act all tough in front of me.”
“You steal all the oxygen in the room. How can I get a word in?” I shot back. “Now, what are you planning?”
“Will you get the yogurt first? Then we’ll talk.”
“Fine.” I reached for my phone back, but she just held it to herself.
“I’m confiscating this for now.”
“Whatever, and take off the mask already, Mom. Your face is fine,” I replied, then walked around the coffee table and out of the living room to the kitchen to get her beloved fat-free, vanilla and fruit-blended yogurt.
I was about seven when I realized my mom wasn’t like other moms. Maybe it was because I was around that same age when I stopped doing pageants and spent time with “regular” kids, as regular as they could be, anyway. She’d had me at twenty, but my dad said she sometimes acted like a teenager. She was goofy, stubborn, vain, loud, and blunt—unapologetically blunt. When I gained weight, she was the first to let me know. If I were getting too skinny, she’d let me know that, too. If I woke up late for school because she’d let me stay up all night with her to watch a movie, she’d refuse to let me go to school until I was perfectly presentable. There was no such thing as a bad hair day. It was just something that stressed and lazy people made up so as not to put in any effort. She was strict in only one thing, appearance.
If I got a bad grade, all she would ask was whether or not I had tried, and when I said yes, she’d say, “Well, that’s all you can do. Good job.” My father, on the other hand, would lecture me for a solid hour until my mom came to save me.
When I was nine, she and I both realized I had a gift and love for the piano and singing. She put all her effort into making sure I had the best teachers and took classes. She became my biggest cheerleader, and every time my father would begin to voice his disapproval, she’d unleash hell. He’d said she was always too carefree with me. And she was. Even I noticed back then that most girls had issues with their moms as teenagers. But mine was more like my friend. I wanted to grow up to help her, to prove that she was a good mom, just different. But somewhere along the line, I think I became more of the parent, and I was stricter with her so she didn’t anger my dad or get into an argument with anyone else.
“Did he not leave any?” she called out loudly, snapping me from my thoughts.
“No, he did. Coming.” I grabbed the yogurt from the fridge as well as two spoons from the drawer. Entering the living room, I saw she’d now taken off her mask and was scrolling through my messages.
“Are you looking through my phone?”
“Yes, and I’m very disappointed!” she called out dramatically. “How do you not have a more interesting life? I’ve nearly fallen asleep reading through your texts!”
“Excuse you; I have a life. Thank you. It’s just not a crazy one,” I replied, giving her the yogurt and snatching back my phone.
“A.k.a. boring. Why don’t you do what other rich girls do like—”
“Drugs, alcohol, and men,” I asked, taking a bite of my own yogurt as I sat down on the floor. “Sorry, but I don’t have bad enough daddy issues for that. Consider that a credit to you and Dad.”
“I’ll accept it as credit. Now, just say thank you for being an amazing mom.” She leaned her ear to me.
I cleared my throat and leaned in. “Can we get to the part where you tell me what is going on?”
She sighed and leaned back, licking her spoon. “You’re no fun.”
“Nope. Licensed fun-killer here, and you are stalling.”
“Fine. Fine. Fine. I was hoping to wear you down slowly, but someone just won’t let me have any peace tonight.”
“Wear me down to what?” I hope she didn’t mean what I thought she meant.
“Marriage.”
“Mom!” It was exactly what I thought she’d meant. “I don’t want to get married.”
“See, this is why I wanted to work slowly. You’re always so stubborn.”
“I’m stubborn? You are the Queen of Stubborn, the Miss Universe of Stubborn!”
She turned her head and ate while ignoring me completely because she knew I was right.