Grieve

Chapter 8

Mother denied having a favorite daughter. Yet, all I heard my whole life was that I should try harder to become like Athena. She, a high-acomplished woman who graduated with honors in college, found her partner, married, and was supposedly living the ideal life. My mother wanted me to be that way; instead, I barely managed to graduate in my field, had casual relationships every other Saturday, and my previous job paid barely more than what was necessary for rent. She didn't approve of my lifestyle, of course.

What I least expected and wanted today was to deal with my mom, especially after I had a good time with Evan. It had been so long since I felt joy doing fun things. I also appreciate that he was able to read between the lines and said goodbye when he saw mom, even though some part of me wanted to extend our silly conversation.

Right now, with her standing in front of my door, scrutinizing the dirty dishes, clothes, and empty packages scattered around, she can't help say, "How do you live like this, Aster? This is disgusting."

I let out a laugh that has everything to do with irony and nothing to do with humor. This is the better my apartment has looked in months, thanks to Daia.

"It's funny that that's the first thing you say after not seeing each other in months," I say.

She doesn't answer; mother just makes that lip gesture that I have grown to despise. When I catch a glimpse of glitter on the floor close to my bedroom, I wonder where Daia is.

I widen my eyes and take a furtive look behind my back. She's nowhere to be seen, and I hope it remains that way. If my mom—who refused to go to therapy after Athena's death because "it's nobody's business"—finds out I have a fairy protector, I might not be her daughter anymore. I would be disowned.

My mother takes a seat in the table, setting her black purse on top of it. Then shifts her body to face me.

"What are you looking at?" she asks since I keep taking glances behind me. I turn around in an abrupt motion.

"Nothing," I answer. "Why did you come here, anyways?"

Mother shakes her head at me, like she has no idea how I've ended up like this.

"You are so selfish," she murmurs. And even though I don't want to care, my chest burns with her words. Each letter adheres itself to my heart, marking it with venomous hatred.

"Is this what you came for? To call me that?"

She looks down at her hands on her knees before focusing those black eyes on me.

"We've texted you, we've called you, and we haven't gotten an answer in months." Her voice falters the more she talks, like there is a slump in her throat. "How can it be possible, Aster? How can you not care after losing..."

She spins her face to the side, so I can't see the tears accumulating in her eyes. I'm not sure what to say. So I swallow hard and remain silent.

Mother covers her eyes with her hands. Wind slaps on the living room's window; its soothing sound alleviates the fire in my chest. For a second, I'm tempted to walk to her, put my hand on her shoulder, and maybe even hug her, but there is something holding me back. A force, so strong, keeps me grounded in the same spot; it clings to my ankles, my legs, like a dark entity that never wants to let me go.

"Why didn't you come before?" That's the only thing that I'm able to say because she's crying now. And I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do.

"Why would we? We're not welcome here." Her eyes have streaks of tears on her cheeks; the image of a harsh woman gone.

"You know it's not like that."

"Then how is it, Aster?" Mother stands up and makes a gesture with her hands, signaling at my apartment. "What in the world is this? You weren't like this."