Someone Else's Fairytale (29 page)

“How are you?”

“I'm fine. How are you?”

“I'm good. I hear you got a restraining order against Chris?”

“Yeah.”

“I should do that.”

Guilt hit me like a wave of cold water to the face. My mother's house had been vandalized, and it hadn't occurred to me to have her join me in the petition. “Sorry, I should have told you. But, he's back in jail now. He got five years.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I just...” There was no good way to finish that. I'd been so worried about myself that I hadn't thought of anyone else. But why, I thought, should I have to think of anyone else? I was the one who'd been shot and left for dead in the desert. It seemed only fair that I got to be a little self-centered about it.

“A friend of mine works as a court reporter,” said Mom. “He said you were amazing.”

I shrugged.

“Always so tough.” She smiled with pride.

“It's not like I ever had a choice.” The words came with a flash of anger.

Mom blinked in surprise, then got her wide-eyed look. She didn't ask what I meant or try to defend herself. My outburst hadn't provoked a fight. Her reaction was far worse than that. She started to cry.

“Mom,” I shouted. “For once in your life, act like a grown up!”

“Honey?”

“Chris's attack happened to me, not you. To
me.”

“I-I know. I was there when they brought you in...” Her voice faded to a whisper, then choking sobs. If she were making an Oscar clip, it would have been perfect, but given this was real life, it made me want to throttle her.

“Well how come I don't get to cry about it? How come I've got to be the strong one? Why did you even come here to talk about restraining orders? Do you expect me to help you out with yours? Because it should be the other way around!”

Mom didn't reply, just kept staring at me with those wide, vulnerable eyes.

“I can't take this,” I said. “Mom, I love you, but I don't want you around right now. I can't comfort you-”

“I don't want you to comfort me-”

“Well you sit there sobbing and what am I supposed to do? Just go read a book?”

“I don't expect-”

“What would any normal person do if they saw you right now? What would they feel with all the tears? The 'I'm so scared' look?” I gestured at her. “You may not be asking directly for comfort, but I can't just ignore you. When do
I
get to be scared and get comforted and all that? Huh? In ten years, that has never happened.”

My mother blinked several times, fat tears running down her cheeks. She took a deep, shaky breath and looked, as always, like a scared little girl. One who'd just been yelled at by her mother. She took another deep breath. “Okay,” she said. “I can try to... to understand that, but I'll never forget what it was like, seeing my baby like that.”

“Yeah, try to imagine what it's like comforting your baby through that.”

“Honey... I don't... I can't...” She rested her forehead on one hand as if bracing herself against a headache. She heaved some more deep breaths.

I went and flopped down on the couch and stared at the blank gray television screen. There was no point yelling at her. It had only made me feel worse.

“Have I ever told you how proud I am of you?” she said.

“What?”

“I don't think I have. I hear you're on track to be valedictorian?”

“Mmmm.”

“Amazing. I think I got one A once in a class. PE.”

“Mom...”

“So you think I'm silly and inadequate. Compared to you, I am. I always will be.”

“Come on. No martyr stuff.”

“Most people are weaker and stupider and less capable than you. I can't help you there.”

I shook my head.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

“Don't. You're making me feel guilty.”

“Well, I don't mean to do that either.”

“I'm sorry too,” I said. And I was. I was sorry for provoking a fight.

“Well... anyway... I didn't come to talk about restraining orders,” said Mom. “I shouldn't have even brought that up. I'm moving, honey.” She bit her lip, again, as if she were the daughter and she were looking to me for approval.

“Moving where?”

“
North Dakota
.”

I sat up. “What?”

She shrugged and began to fidget by flicking her thumbnails against each other,
click, click, click.

“What's in
North Dakota
?”

She didn't respond.

I took a deep, bracing breath. “Who's in
North Dakota
?”

“His name's Ron.”

“And how did you meet him?”

She stopped clicking her nails and pressed a hand to her forehead again. “On e-Harmony.”

Calm, I told myself. “Have you ever met him in person?”

“Yes, honey, he's been down here twice. I didn't introduce him to you because I wasn't all that sure what I thought of him yet.”

“But now you're moving in with him?”

To my utter shock, she shook her head. “No. I've got a little apartment up there, and a job. I'm going to work at a hotel reception desk. I figure... there's nothing really keeping me here. Other than you, I mean, but you're all grown up and don't need your mother hanging around.”

“I like having you around.”

She was kind enough not to correct me, only gave me a tolerant smile. “Thank you. I figure I should go explore this...” She waved her hand. “
Opportunity
. He treats me very well. And he's unmarried.” She bit her lip again.

“That's a plus.”

“Yes it is. He's a widower. Has two girls in high school. Owns a garage and seems to do real well for himself. I'm not really sure what he sees in me.”

“Oh, come on.”

“I don't.”

“You're young, and even for your age you look good. You take care of yourself. You're good to your boyfriends. Way better than they deserve. What's not to like?”

She shrugged. “I'm not you. You're the one who attracts the rich men lately.”

I shook my head. “Nothing ever came of that.”

“Oh.” She looked at my coffee table.

I sat forward and swiped the magazine with Jason's picture on the cover, and tucked it under my arm. “I haven't spoken to him in months.”

“That issue only came out last week.”

“Well, yeah. I...”

“He broke it off and you still miss him?” She nodded. “That's rough.”

“Nothing happened. I broke it off, Mom.”

“So did he send you that?”

“No.”

She didn't raise an eyebrow or smirk at me or anything, just sat and waited.

“I'm pathetic,” I said. “We watched
New Light
in Media Studies and now I can't get over it. They're such stupid movies, and I'm a fangirl.”

“I love those movies.”

“Yeah, well, so... What Jason liked about me was that I didn't care about that stuff. Turns out, I do. He wouldn't be interested in me now.”

“What? That's harsh. Those made him famous.”

I tried to shrug like I didn't care.

Mom didn't buy it. She got off her stool and came to sit next to me. “Honey, why don't you call him?”

“He'll have forgotten about me.”

She tugged the magazine loose from under my arm. “How do you know that?”

“He gets around, Mom. He's probably had two other girlfriends by now.”

She looked up from paging through the magazine. “Have you tried calling him?”

“No... but-”

She'd reached the interview, and the two page picture of him reclining on a couch. I averted my eyes.

“He just makes up stories for interviews. There's nothing in there that's him.”

Mom paged past the photo, and the next, and the next. “'Do you believe in true love?'” she read.

“Mom...”

“He says, 'You know, in all seriousness, I do. Fairytale endings aren't just for normal people. Us abnormally famous guys want them as much as the next person.'”

“Stop,” I said.

“Why? Like you said, it's just made up, right?”

“But-”

“They ask him, 'Have you ever met your fairytale princess?'”

I snatched the magazine away. “Stop.”

“Maybe he'll mention you. You don't want to find out?”

I clasped the magazine to my chest and folded my arms.
 
"No."

Mom didn't buy it for a second. She burst out laughing.

“Give me the magazine, Chloe,” said Mom.

I shook my head and kept my arms clasped over the magazine. I knew I was scrunching Jason's picture, but I reminded myself that I shouldn't care.

“Are you scared?” Mom asked. She started to giggle.

“What? What's so funny?”

“Honey, I've never seen you scared of anything. You've faced down being murdered, and you're afraid of
boys?”

I turned away from her. Why couldn't she be a wise, caring, mother? Why did she have to act like one of my high school classmates? She was full on laughing at me now.

“Well,” she said, “that got you through high school without incident, but you've gotta let it go someday, honey. It's okay to get your heart broken. It doesn't hurt worse than multiple gunshot wounds.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, it doesn't hurt worse than seeing your daughter with multiple gunshot wounds. Not even close. I can tell you that.”

I shook my head.

Mom held out her hand for the magazine. “Come on,” she said. “I can read it and tell you if it's good or bad.” When I didn't move she wiggled her fingers. “Come on. What if he tells the world he's in love with you?”

Tears sprang to my eyes. I let go of the magazine to swipe the back of my hand across my cheeks.

“Oh, what, honey? You love him?”

“He told me he loved me.”

She yanked the magazine out of my arms. “I'm reading this.”

“Mom-”

“You want me to read it aloud or no?”

“I...”

“If I leave it here without reading it aloud, you going to read it, or you going to do your stoic thing and throw it away?”

I folded my arms across my chest, as if they'd form a shield between me and her.

“I'm reading it aloud.” She cleared her throat. She was just right there. I could still grab the magazine. “They asked if he'd ever met his fairytale princess, and he says, 'Well... maybe'

“Then the interviewer says, 'That a yes?'" Mom gave me a significant look. “Shall I go on?”

I grabbed a couch pillow and hugged it to my chest. “He'll probably tell some story about some other girl.”

“Which, according to you, could be a total lie. He lies in interviews, right?”

“Sure.”

She squeezed my arm. “Be strong. He says, 'Well, I've met someone who deserves to be the fairytale princess. Beautiful, intelligent, and, like, the strongest person I've ever met. Knowing that she doesn't have someone in her life who loves her for the amazing person she is, that's what breaks my heart. No one deserves a Prince Charming more than she does.'” Mom inclined her head. “Think that's you?”