Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
I left the bathroom, grabbed my things, and pulled the front door open to… “Oh.” What universe was I in right then? Because Clark’s mom was standing at my door, fist raised to either knock or punch me.
“Skylar…hello.” She lowered her arm, looking at me. I could see her sorting through her thoughts, her forehead wrinkled like she was trying to understand something, only I didn’t know what.
“Hey.” I could hear the confusion tangled with anger in that one word I’d spoken. I really wanted to know why she was there, but I was upset with her too. She’d looked down on my mom. I couldn’t easily forget that.
“Would it be all right if I came in?”
“Um…yeah, sure. I guess.” I almost told her to excuse the mess, but the truth was, my place wasn’t as messy as it used to be. I was better at that because of Clark. So it would just be a way for me to say that my apartment wasn’t up to her standards, and I refused to let myself believe that.
Mrs. Havemeyer came in, and I closed the door behind her.
“Would you like something to drink?” I was upset over what she’d said, but I also felt determination swell inside me. I wanted to show her I was better than she thought. That I could look past what she said and treat her with respect, because that was the kind of person I was.
“No, thank you.” She was walking around my living room, looking around. “I appreciate that offer, though.” She held her expensive purse up on her shoulder as she stopped in front of my sewing table. “This is yours?” she asked, surprise evident in her voice.
“Yeah. I taught myself to sew. I love it. Eventually I’d like to design my own line of clothes, which I know is a bit far-fetched, but I’m good. I figure I can start selling online or something. I just got a job with one of the local theaters, helping with costumes. I haven’t told Clark yet, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t. Not that you would, but I’d like to tell him myself.”
She turned, looked at me, that wrinkled-confused look back in her eyes as if she was putting together a puzzle, which happened to be me. “That’s good—taking initiative like that.”
“Thank you.” Yep, I was definitely in some alternate universe. I had no idea what was going on here. “I have dreams, ya know? I realize you look at me as someone who’s not good enough for Clark, but I have things I want in life. I work hard, and more importantly, I’m a good person. My mom is too. She might not be like you, but that doesn’t mean you’re better than her. She’d been through a lot, but there’s nothing she wouldn’t do for me, for anyone she cares about. When I was little, we struggled a lot. One time, the restaurant she worked at closed down. She got a new job, but money was really tight because she hadn’t started yet, and it would take a while before she got her first paycheck. We were low on food, but Mom always made sure I ate first. There was this little boy—our neighbor. His parents neglected him, and Mom would invite him over for dinner and she’d feed both of us, giving him her meal. That’s the kind of person she is. If you can’t see that, then that’s your loss.”
Her eyes darted away, and I could swear there was moisture there. “I…I owe you and your mother an apology for what I said—for the way I’ve treated you both.” She swiped at her eyes, and sure enough, she was crying. “I judged your mother because of my own.”
I frowned, unsure what she meant.
“Has Clark ever mentioned her?” she asked.
“No.”
“She was…a difficult woman. She was always so hard on me, demanding the best. No matter what I did, I was never good enough. She pushed me and molded me until…well, until I became her. Until I looked down my nose at others and pushed my son to be who I wanted him to be, because nothing mattered as much as what people thought. Somehow, I didn’t see it. Somehow, I didn’t realize I’d become her—cold, judgmental, hard on my son. All the things I hated growing up, I’ve allowed myself to become. When I look at your mom, I guess part of me wishes I could be more like her, carefree and open.” She swiped at her eyes again. “But seeing Clark…seeing how much he cares about you and how much I’ve hurt him by pushing him, I…I can’t do it. I won’t let myself be her, and I don’t want to chase my son away the way my mom did with me.”