The Heart That's Meant to Love You

Chapter 19: Conflict

Naomi shucked her shoes off her feet inside the front door. A habit instilled in her since birth, it didn't seem right to enter anyone's house with shoes on, let alone her own. In hindsight, it might have been better not to make any noise.

"Naomi."

Naomi knew the tone. She had heard it on a handful of occasions, none of which had ended well. At least this time Naomi had an inkling about what she had done to displease her mother. She simply hadn't thought her mother would find out so soon.

Seeing that she couldn't avoid it, Naomi stiffened her spine and turned the corner into the living area.

Her mother lay in wait, perched on the edge of the sofa with her arms folded loosely across her chest. That didn't fool Naomi. No matter how elegant her mother looked, Naomi saw the way her jaw clenched. The white-knuckle grip she gave her own arms. Ms. Rowe was well and truly angry.

Some small part of Naomi, a masochistic and twisted part, enjoyed seeing her mother's anger. It at least made her seem human.

"You didn't attend your make-up interview."

"No, ma'am. I did not."

Though she could lie about it, lying wouldn't make her mother's anger go away. If she knew this fast that Naomi had stood up the Debate Team, she no doubt had a spy in their midst. Another reason that Naomi didn't have the desire to join her mother's selected extracurricular.

"Why not?" Ms. Rowe's fingers clenched around her sleeve, then loosened again. 

Naomi folded her hands in front of her, the perfect picture of collectedness even when everything within her trembled in fearful anticipation of what came next. "I didn't want to."

"You didn't... want to?" Ms. Rowe rose to her feet, nostril's flaring with each calculated breath.

"I already have an extracurricular class."

"I don't remember this interview being an option." Ms. Rowe heaved another heavy breath. "Your academic advisor and I spoke about it and decided this was the best for The Plan."

That was the problem. Her mother had spoken to him, and he to her mother. No one had consulted Naomi even though the plan revolved around her involvement.

Naomi resisted the urge to shout at her mother. Shouting had never worked in the past and she doubted it would work in the future, either. Instead, Naomi remained the perfect picture of calm indifference.

"We discussed my participation in this art class. You gave your blessing."

"That was then."

"We had a set plan." Naomi swallowed back her anxiety. "Why does the plan keep changing?"

Ms. Rowe stepped forward, her arms dropping in indignation. "What is wrong with you, Naomi? You've never rebelled like this before. Did I do something wrong? You can tell me."

She couldn't and they both knew it. No matter what Naomi said, her mother had her own ideas. The ideal daughter with the ideal life. It hadn't been a problem before, but lately Naomi had begun to feel trapped. The Plan kept changing, but never to fit how Naomi wanted it to change.

"Have I not done enough for you? Not loved you enough?" Ms. Rowe raked a hand through her stylishly bobbed hair. "Have I not provided everything you need?"

"That's not the problem."

Naomi couldn't deny that her mother had always provided her with a stable living environment. Food on the table, toys and clothes, a roof over her head. Ms. Rowe had struggled to provide while she got her company up and running, had given everything to raise Naomi well. Naomi could never deny the gratitude she had toward her mother for everything she had done.

Ms. Rowe knit her brow. "Then what's the problem? Do you know what it took to get this second-chance interview? I did it for you, because you're my daughter. Why would you throw away my good intentions and affection like that? They don't give third chances."

Ms. Rowe had a point. It had probably taken a lot to get the interview. But Naomi had no desire to be on the Debate Team. Since the team didn't give third chances, it would be best to end this conflict before it escalated any further.

Naomi rolled her tongue over her lips to wet them. "I'm sorry. For not considering the effort you put in."

Ms. Rowe sighed, her hands coming up to rest on Naomi's shoulders. "Everything I do is for your good. Don't you know that by now?"

"You promised. About the art class." Naomi would stand by that one. She loved creating art too much to give it up. Even if it didn't fit into the Grand Plan, everyone needed a hobby. Naomi had found hers in a room that smelled of charcoal, wet oil paint, and turpentine.

Ms. Rowe gave Naomi's shoulders a gentle shake. "Some things are more important than painting, Naomi. We discussed that when I agreed. You said it wouldn't affect your life plan."

"I know." Naomi met her mother's gaze. "It won't."

"It had better not." Ms. Rowe let her go, only to return to her perch on the sofa. "I'll forgive you for the debate team debacle this time, but you owe me a favor in the future. This could have been the key to unlocking your future."

Owe her a favor? It couldn't be so bad. Naomi had owed her mother a few favors before, but she hadn't cashed them in for something selfish or upsetting. So Naomi agreed with a nod.

Ms. Rowe dismissed her daughter with a wave of her hand. "Let me cool down. We'll eat later."

"I'm not hungry anyway," Naomi fibbed.

She had eaten earlier. It wouldn't kill her to skip dinner, which was sure to be awkward with the conflict still hovering in the air around them. She would rather let it rest for the night. She could deal with other things later, and if she got too hungry she could sneak out for a late night snack. It wouldn't be the first time.

Ms. Rowe, finally through with her agenda, barely spared Naomi another glance. All for the better.

Naomi returned to her room and dropped her school bag onto a chair. Tomorrow, she had to work. Dealing with other humans exhausted her, but she couldn't call in sick. A perfect record in anything had been stressed to her as a requirement growing up. Naomi wouldn't lie that she was sick if it ruined her reputation.

With the argument between her and hermother still fresh in her mind, Naomi flopped onto her bed.

"What's the matter? You scared?" Kieran's taunt from earlier rang in her mind like a beacon of truth.

Because, if Naomi were being honest, she was scared. She was always scared, of one thing or another. Of disappointing her mother. Of being rejected and abandoned. Of making a misstep that would ruin her future. Everything around her scared her, and that's why she put up a front of cold indifference. At least then she could abandon others. They would abandon her, anyway, when they found out she had nothing to offer them.

"You're entitled to push me away if you want. I'm entitled to try that much harder to get close to you."

Naomi rolled onto her stomach, grabbed a pillow, and buried her head into it. Why couldn't she forget the serious tone of his voice? Why couldn't she push him away like she did everyone else? What was it about her that drew him closer? She couldn't offer him anything, just like she couldn't offer anything to anyone else. Why would Kieran want to get closer to someone like that?

If he kept up his facade like that, it was sure to be a long and infuriating ride for Naomi. She didn't want to let Kieran into her head or her life. But she feared, above everything else, that she might.