No it wasn’t just a dinner…It was a trap.
“Lele, can you pass the spinach? And Matilda, how was your day?” my mother spoke sweet nothings to me over the dinner table laden with a plate of dried chicken breasts, extremely moist chopped spinach, and a pot of slightly burned steamed rice. She didn’t care now and never would care how my day went or even how I was. She despised me as a daughter. I disappointed her one too many times and so much was evident.
I opened my mouth ready to sling an equally empty and unloving answer in her face. I could already taste the sarcasm; sweet on my tongue and satisfying on my lips. A sharp glance from my father who sat tensely on my mother’s right stopped me from saying anything. Instead I stuffed my gaping mouth with tasteless warm spinach leaves and slowly chewed. I never broke eye contact with my mother. Around her eyes her crow’s feet deepened as she plastered a fake smile to her face and glanced away.
That’s right. Just ignore me. What else are you supposed to do with your terrible daughter who can’t even answer your empty question about my day? Please mother, just learn that we aren’t going to ever get along. This pretend game of mother-daughter love needs to cease. Now.
Just say it woman, god knows you think it. You are ashamed of me. I could never live up to my little sister’s perfect everything… I glared at my sister as I continued my thorough chewing of spinach. Awkward silence fell over the room like a thick blanket of freezing damp snow, smothering the warmth and life out of each unfortunate soul seated around the table. Mother sighed, looking distantly down at her mossy green and cream checked place mat and pulling at a loose thread. Leona and my father looked at her expectantly, waiting for the next move in our little “power struggle game” as she fondly called it. And she wasn’t one to let something as blatantly rude as my lack of response just pass by without comment.
She grabbed at her crystal glass of white wine. She took a sip and then sat the glass down without a sound. No one made a sound.
“Matilda,” Strike one mother. I hate my name. You should know that. Call me anything else but Matilda. I have asked to be called Mattie repeatedly. You call Leona Lele, so why not call me Mattie. Oh wait that’s right you hate me. “We need to work together. I am here to support you, but you have to help yourself first.”
Strike two! My hands twitched with anticipation. I was not going to just sit here and be insulted and chided by the woman who refused to accept me. ‘Have to help yourself first’?! You are insinuating that I need help. What am I broken? Do I need to be ‘fixed’? What is my problem mother? I am dying to know… Come on, just spit it out. It has obviously been hanging heavily on your mind and you can’t bear it any longer. Please give me one more reason to hate you and want to leave this place. Please…
“I love you,” I couldn’t help but let a small bubble of laughter slip past my lips. Well looks who is a liar! Her lips pursed and her ears grew red as the vein on her forehead began to rise. Oh the vein of doom. Now I’m in for it! Ha ha ha!
I secretly cherish it when that vein pushes to the surface of her skin. Ebbing with blood pumped furiously from her excited heart. It is only then do I know what passes from her lips is what she is truly thinking and is the cold hard truth. She can only tell the truth when that vein is present. Her anger clears away any falsehoods she may cling to when preserving her composure as a ‘good’ mother.
“Look Matilda,” she practically spat my name out like a disgusting piece of inedible food. “I do not appreciate your attitude at all when I am trying to talk frankly to you. You need a serious attitude adjustment. You cannot live your life like this!” Her voice rose and became shrill as her words pierced the quiet air.
