Mom moves closer, pulling me into her arms. “I love you, darling. No matter what you think. I know I’m hard on you”—she leans back, and her voice softens—“but it’s only because I want better for you than what you have right now.”
I fight back the emotion bubbling up in my chest. “I’m really okay.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” I lie because it’s easier than telling her the truth. She won’t understand that nothing in my life, other than Chastity, is okay.
I’m falling, and it feels like nothing will stop the descent at this point. I just don’t know how badly I’ll be broken once I reach the bottom.
* * *
“How was school today?” I ask Chastity as we sit at the table for dinner.
This is the one tradition from my childhood that I will always keep. As a kid, I hated it, but as a mother, I get it. No matter what we have going on in our lives, we always sit down and have dinner together.
“It was…fine.”
Totally not buying it. “Just fine?”
She shovels food in her mouth, probably trying to keep me from asking her more, but she should really know better.
“Chas?”
Her eyes lift and then she shoves more food in. “I hate that nickname.”
Okay, it’s going to be like that.
The one thing I’ve worked extremely hard at is our relationship. I try not to keep things from her, and tried to emulate being both a friend and a mother at the same time. She’s always been an open book, so this is strange for her to hold back.
“Would you rather I shorten it to Titty?”
She snorts. “If I had any that would be better.”
I fight back the smile and wait for her to laugh, but I get nothing. “What has you so angry?”
“Nothing.”
Right, this glowing new version of herself is clearly a product of nothing.
“I’m going to keep asking,” I warn her. “I have no boundaries.”
“Oh, I know.”
“So, you should probably spill it.”
“There’s nothing to say, people are stupid.” Chastity pushes the food around on her plate. “I hate people.”
“We know that’s true. Is it a boy?”
She drops her fork and glares at me. “Really, Mom?”
“What?” I raise my hands in surrender. “Most of the time, when a girl is this…fine…it’s usually about a boy. They’re kind of dumb, you know?”
I can’t make out what she says under her breath but I swear it was something about mothers are too.
“It’s not a boy.”
“Is it your teachers?”
Chastity is often frustrated by them, since she’s pretty advanced. She’s in the gifted program and still she’s bored. It’s one of the things I despise about living in a town with very few kids, a lack of options—and funding.
“No, Mom, stop. I’m fine. I just…I had a bad day and I really hate people.”
I can understand that sentiment.
“Hopefully tomorrow is a better day.”
She huffs and starts eating again.
I start to eat my meat loaf and a few moments pass before Chastity slams her fork down. “You know what I hate? Girls. They’re so mean.”
And here we have it. “What happened?”
“She thinks she’s so perfect and pretty. She’s not. She’s not perfect!”
Chastity has never fit in. No matter how many playdates I set up or sports I tried to get her to try, she never enjoyed it. Instead of makeup, she’d rather study the ingredients of makeup to let me know all the hazardous things inside of them. When I tried to get her to do cheerleading, we quickly learned that clapping and doing any other motion at the same time was not her strong suit.
I’ve always described her as an old soul. She doesn’t understand why things fascinate the kids her age. She wants to talk about politics, animal rights, and spend her time learning instead of gossiping.
Her hand taps on the table, reminding me I haven’t asked her who she’s talking about.
“Who?”
“The new girl.”
Someone new? How did anyone move into this town without a bulletin going out? “We didn’t have anyone new move in.”
Her eyes narrow. “Yes we did, and the mean girl is in my class.”
“Who?”
Chastity ignores my question and starts a rant like I’ve never seen from her. “I offered to let her sit at my lunch table and she laughed and said she’d rather not be a loser on day one. Do you believe that? How would she even know that? Why am I a loser, because I’m nice?”
Now it’s my turn to feel an extreme amount of guilt. Many moons ago, I would’ve said something like that to Nina if she had offered for me to sit with her. In fact, I probably did.
I was the mean girl or at least friends with them all. So many times I would say things because I had to. It was better to fit in with them than be on the outside. I regret it.
My heart breaks a little that my daughter is on the receiving end. “You’re not a loser.”
“I know that. And I’d rather be a loser than a horrible mean girl. I’m so tired of them acting like they own the school, prancing around with their perfect hair and perfect makeup. I hate them! Someone needs to tell them that they’re not going to be popular forever.”
“Most mean girls only act mean because they’re afraid to let other people see their flaws.”
Chastity knows the stories of my…reign. “You can’t defend her, Mom. After lunch, she was telling people how I tried to get her into my cult. Cult! Then—” Chastity pauses, and I nod to encourage her. “I don’t want to say it.”
“Why?”
She traces the wood grain in the table and I keep quiet. She does this when she’s mulling over something uncomfortable. I used to push, but I realize how the introspective moment helps her focus and handle the excess of emotion.
“Because it’s about you.”
Like I haven’t heard it all? “Believe me, sweetheart.” I wait for her to look up. “There’s nothing that can be said that will hurt me.”
“She said at least her mom
