Past The Mistakes

14.5 | kayden and gloria

Sometimes I didn't know what she was trying to do or prove, but with my mother, it was never as easy as it seemed. She was one of the most accomplished women where we used to live; maybe her expectations for herself were eating her up. 

Friday night was just a show of her false humiliation. Her's and mine.

She wanted to show a bunch of average, nice people how stressed she was? Pointless. She was trying to make this town see her as a perfect mother, living in a perfect country-style house in a small town with a son who was this walking and talking disappointment. 

In reality, I knew she couldn't stand her sundress and was itching to throw on a formal grown and sip on some fine wine. I knew she was just waiting for my father to call her back, telling her that he had cleaned up after me and that she was welcome to come back. She wanted him to tell her that he was waiting for her back home whenever she wanted to come back.

She wanted to be perceived as perfect because our lives were anything but.

How could we be when my father was in that line of work and she was doing assignments that was beyond me?

How could we when I didn't want anything to do with them and that city life that had robbed me of my peace of mind? It was exhausting. I didn't know how tired I was of it until I came here. How long was I on the highway?

Saturday morning she woke up late, and my mother never wakes up late. She spent the whole day locked away in her office with her work. That's how she escaped her life, drowning herself in paperwork and dozens of emails upon emails. That's how she escaped me.

She was mad at me and she was mad at herself for letting her be vulnerable.

I knew Thomas, Marie, and Richard didn't mind what she said. They probably didn't even think much of it, just letting it go with the thought of her being stressed by the move. She was though...stressed by the move.

But nobody would be able to understand my mother better than me.

Maybe it was just a show but I would never know what it was with her. 

"It's not even about me anymore," I sighed wanting to live this peaceful night forever, never wanting to go. Not wanting to go back to a sad house with my equally sad mother. She was only unhappy because of me and that made it a thousand times harder to stay in the house.

"I can relate. I mean it's not even about me anymore either," she says, surprising me with how soft her voice is.

She wasn't talking about what I was saying. I knew it was about the exact same reason that girl couldn't be friends with her, the reason those boys were harassing her, the same reason why she had been homeschooled for so long.

"We aren't even the problem," I conclude, feeling the weight of my words as they escape me. I wanted to take it back because it was a lie. I was the problem. I was once the problem. I would be lying if I said I wasn't.

"Now I wonder, what is the real problem?"

"Expectations," I answer. "Expectations, responsibility, reputation and the lack of trust."

She wouldn't ever realize the extent of my words. The expectations, responsibilities and reputation that I had to live up to and uphold were beyond it all. 

It's silent for a moment before Layla lifts her head off my shoulder. The wind picks up, causing goosebumps to form on my arms, rejuvenating my spirits. I never felt more alive than I had right now. Just then, the wax candles decide to give out on themselves, casting the darkness upon us.