“Maybe,” I reply to not dismiss the little effort she’s making of having an interest in my life. As I came to talk to her about what Oliver discovered—or should I say the lack of—I need to make nice if I want some answers. My mother is the queen of avoidance, and every conversation needs to be steered carefully where you want it to if you want her to tell you what you need. It’s exhausting, but it’s the only way I know how to communicate with her. I often wish I could have the relationship my sister has with her. If only I was more tamed and obedient and not allergic to her bullshit. “I went only once but it helped already. I have this exercise to do. Every day I need to tell someone about King’s death to accept it. Or interiorize it or some shit—”
“Language…”
“Yes mother, I’m sorry.” I smile and go on, avoiding rolling my eyes, “Anyway, I need to repeat the story over and over and it has helped me.” She gestures for me to drink the evil water and in the spirit to avoid another lecture about my skin, I do.
“Who have you told?” She asks while I try not to keep the flavored water down.
“The therapist and…” I pause trying to decide how to describe Oliver to my mother without her believing I’m finally moving on. I don’t need her trying to marry me to the latest prospect she found. Not that she didn’t try every holiday since King died, “a friend of Mark.” And because I don’t want her to ask anything more than I’m willing to tell her, I don’t allow her the time to ask a question before adding, “can you tell me again how you met Dad?”
She steps back and closes her eyes, not because she’s sad, but because she hates talking about him. My question disturbs the perfect life she created by making her remember the days she was a car racing groupie.
“Garrett. I’ve told you time after time to call him Garrett and not Dad.” She did, and I never conformed. “He’s no one. Andre on the other hand…” She’s exactly where I want her to be.
She can be so predictable.
Every time I talk about my father she counters with something about Andre. Andre the savior who she fell in love with when my father chose his career over her. Andre who saved me from the tornado the media were when I was only a child who had just lost her dad. Andre the rescuer who gave me his name so no one would know who I was.
“Speaking about Andre, it came to my attention that I wasn’t mentioned in Andre’s bio or anywhere in his life in fact. Is there a reason?”
Straight to the jugular. My mother staggers briefly but keeps her smile on. Her blue eyes empty but her face trying to keep the composure she loves.
Wife of a CIA agent was always a better image than lover of a racer, even if the hours alone raising her daughters were the same, even if both loved their job more than her, even if at the end of the day, she was still alone at night and still worried Andre would die.
Or so I believe, she never confided in me but her life with Andre was no different than when she was with my father and he was on the tracks.
“To prepare for the future,” she clears her throat and doesn’t avoid my eyes, ”it was decided that it was better if you don’t appear at too many events and if you were erased from his background.” She enunciates perfectly.
It takes balls to be my mother.
I’ll give her that.
Mrs. VanHorn has a role to play.
She never shows her emotions, they are weaknesses no one needs.
Growing up, I never knew if it was her true self. I kept wanting her to be a loving and caring mother and to let the mask fall, but I realized soon enough that the mask was the only concern she’ll show. Asking how therapy goes is the small talk she needs to make as a mother.
But in the end, she’s always prepared, always has an answer, never really cared. Even if for a few seconds she can give you the inkling she could.
“Look,” she goes on in her business tone, “we were just advised by your father’s PR team that maybe leaving you out of the narrative was better for everyone. With your fiancé’s death and the phase you seemed to be going through, not really living a life we could caution, we didn’t want you to be under the pressure of what his career might ask us to do.” The political answer is perfect. I was after all a loose cannon in their world. “I mean, weren’t we right, darling? Didn’t you have a little breakdown a couple of days ago? Don’t you think this would be hard for your father’s career if people came to know he had a daughter who was troubled?”
Dagger to the heart and twist, but thankfully, I have my answer ready. “Mother, Andre isn’t my father, but my stepdad. And I was fine until two days ago. Whoever recommended this is an asshole.”
“I didn’t raise you to speak that way, Tessa. And, Dex Crawford is a very respectable lawyer and the son of a dear friend of your father. In fact, he’s very recognized in what he does. He’s one of the best in the field right now.” I roll my eyes. Knowing her, the guy has a perfect pedigree. His parents are rich and one of them has a position that could help Andre in his endeavours.
“I’ll ask Catherine if she’s heard of him. That’s what she does after all.”
“I’m pretty sure Jackson’s wife won’t know who he is. He’s very discreet in what he does. And without criticizing your friends, of course, they don’t
