It was difficult to make myself put that much sugar in her cup, but I did it. “Thora, it doesn’t matter if you thought you wanted it, you’re a child. Eddie’s fifteen. That’s a huge difference.”
“Dad’s ten years older than you,” she said.
“Thora, that’s not the point.” I set the cups down on the table much harder than I’d meant to.
“Well, you know what, none of this is the point because it’s over, okay? Can we talk about something else?”
“No,” I said, and sat down, “We can’t.”
“Listen, I’m sorry I lied to you okay?” She said, in the voice of a petulant teenager, which is, I suppose, exactly what she was. But it broke open something in me.
“Do you know how betrayed I feel? That you’ve been lying to me, day in and day out? When I am trying as hard as I can just to keep this family afloat? It makes me feel like a fool.”
“Well, I’m sorry if taking care of me is hard. You should have thought about that before you had me!”
“This isn’t about that, this is about the way you disrespected me by lying to me. Because you aren’t really sorry. You don’t even know what you’ve done. You’ve let him turn you into a little monster.”
Her face froze. She had both hands around her coffee and she looked like such a grown up. Her face was serious like a woman’s.
“I am glad,” she said, slowly, “that I lied to you, because you would have stopped me and I wanted to do it.”
“Are you happy now?”
It was one of those horrible moments. I had done the very worst thing—I was now, somehow, outside of my control, rubbing my daughter’s nose in her own heartbreak, for childish and vindictive reasons. I knew that I was doing it, and I knew it was the worst thing for a mother to do, but I didn’t stop and I watched her as she stood up very slowly, walked with her cup and poured her coffee into the sink, turned and said, “In a way,” and then walked out the door and stomped up the stairs to her room.
“Dad’s ten years older than you,” she said.
“Thora, that’s not the point.” I set the cups down on the table much harder than I’d meant to.
“Well, you know what, none of this is the point because it’s over, okay? Can we talk about something else?”
“No,” I said, and sat down, “We can’t.”
“Listen, I’m sorry I lied to you okay?” She said, in the voice of a petulant teenager, which is, I suppose, exactly what she was. But it broke open something in me.
“Do you know how betrayed I feel? That you’ve been lying to me, day in and day out? When I am trying as hard as I can just to keep this family afloat? It makes me feel like a fool.”
“Well, I’m sorry if taking care of me is hard. You should have thought about that before you had me!”
“This isn’t about that, this is about the way you disrespected me by lying to me. Because you aren’t really sorry. You don’t even know what you’ve done. You’ve let him turn you into a little monster.”
Her face froze. She had both hands around her coffee and she looked like such a grown up. Her face was serious like a woman’s.
“I am glad,” she said, slowly, “that I lied to you, because you would have stopped me and I wanted to do it.”
“Are you happy now?”
It was one of those horrible moments. I had done the very worst thing—I was now, somehow, outside of my control, rubbing my daughter’s nose in her own heartbreak, for childish and vindictive reasons. I knew that I was doing it, and I knew it was the worst thing for a mother to do, but I didn’t stop and I watched her as she stood up very slowly, walked with her cup and poured her coffee into the sink, turned and said, “In a way,” and then walked out the door and stomped up the stairs to her room.
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