Perfectly Flawed

37. Questions

Frustrated, I crumple up yet another piece of paper. I have this terrible habit of throwing things out the second I make a mistake.

"Okay, Dakota." I roll my eyes. "Just use the eraser next time, paper is expensive." Does talking to yourself qualify as crazy?

I grab a fresh sheet and start over, carefully outlining the silhouette of the ballerina, each crease in the tutu, the point of her narrow elbows, toes.

Kasei gave me a broad outline of things she thinks she wants in terms of design, but I get to make her vision my own.

I squint critically at it for a second before setting it to the side and grabbing a fresh page of calligraphy paper, my brush and my ink.

Kasei also wanted motivational and dancing quotes to be up on the walls, and she insisted while she didn't care which phrases I picked, she really wanted it to be done in the calligraphy font style I've spent years perfecting. Years hand making invitations when my mom couldn't pick a font she liked, years pretending it wasn't the part of the dinner party I was most excited about.

As if fate decided to be cruel, my phone rings. A contact picture I haven't seen for months popping up on the screen.

I answer with a frown. "Mom?"

"Dakota." She breathes, almost as if in relief I answered. "Hi, sweetheart."

"What do you want?" I try to have it not come out aggressive, but based on her sigh I'm sure it did.

"I just want to talk. How are you doing? Is there anything you need?"

"I'm doing well, and no." I put down my brush.

She's silent for a few beats.

"Just say it." I sigh, knowing there's something else she wants from me.

"I'm sorry."

I pull the phone away from my ear quickly, shocked. "What?"

"I know I should have stood up for you."

"Yes, you should have." I agree.

"I just...I didn't think it would go down like this." There's a clink of glass on the other end and I'm sure my poor housewife mom is on her 3rd chardonnay by now.

"Okay..." I'm not sure what to say.

"We shouldn't have cut you off. Seriously, how can I help?"

I shake my head, despite knowing she can't see. "It was never about the money! I don't care that you cut me off, I just wanted parents who support me."

"Well, you know it's hard for your father." Mom clears her throat, as if carefully choosing her next words. "We just. Well. He's had this plan for how your life should be, even before we ever met you."

"That's precisely the issue, mom!" I laugh, exasperated. "I'm sorry I didn't come out as the perfect lawyer son Dad envisioned, and grandpa needed, but you can't possibly think it's fair or even right to shove your expectations onto a child."

"Dakota Adeline please don't yell at me. We miss you. What can I do to get us back to normal?"

"There never was a normal! I spent my entire life wanting to be enough, but I was just your little puppet for years and now I don't wanna be anymore." I sigh. "I'm happy. I'm self sufficient, and am I rich? No but I don't need that. I never cared about that. I'm fine."

"Dakota, all I ask is that you call your father, maybe you can come to some kind of agreement." Her tone is back to the condescending pitch I know too well.