The only reason we pull away is when we hear Sydney’s key rattling in the door.
James is with her and they arrive with food and smiles on their faces to welcome Owen home.
While she arranges the takeout containers on the coffee table for everyone to eat family style, I sense the tension between them.
“What’s wrong?” I ask Sydney in a quiet whisper while we pull plates from the cupboard. “Are you okay?”
“We had a fight.” She rolls her eyes.
“Wow, is that like the first one for you two?” I joke.
“Hardly.” She shakes her head.
I purse my lips, genuinely surprised. “Really?” I ask.
She shakes her head dismissively.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’re going through a lot of shit, I’m not going to bother you about every stupid little tiff.”
“No, no! Don’t do that. Don’t say that. You’re my best friend. I need to know what’s going on with you.”
“Well, you haven’t been around much, Olive.”
She walks over to the coffee table and sets down the cutlery.
I feel like a fool. No, more like a stupid, self-absorbed little girl.
I’ve been going through a lot but she’s right. I have neglected her.
When was the last time we actually spoke to each other? I can’t even remember.
Is her mother still in town? I don’t know.
Sydney and I both make a considerable effort to not make dinner awkward. Owen and James talk about sports, not noticing a thing. She’s being friendly to both James and me for Owen’s benefit. Friendly but not fake-friendly.
After loading the dishwasher, James goes for a run and I help Owen get into bed.
I’m giving him my room so that he can get plenty of rest on the bed while I take the couch.
After I tuck him in and turn off the light, I knock on Sydney’s door.
12
Olive
When we talk…
Sydney doesn’t answer the door so I force myself in. I sit down on the bed next to her. She turns away from me and crosses her arms.
“Can we talk?” I ask.
She pulls out a jar from her nightstand and points the round mirror toward her face. Unscrewing the top, she grabs a generous amount of mud and starts spreading it on her face.
“You want some?” she asks after a moment.
“Sure.” I nod.
I appreciate the gesture and I’m not about to turn away the olive branch just because I’m still wearing makeup.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so…absent recently. You’re really important to me and I just want you to know that.”
“It’s fine, really. I was just really pissed off at James and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, just realizing that I had completely forgotten to ask how the brunch at the Ritz went with her mom and James.
“I really thought that she wasn’t going to like him. I mean, she hasn’t liked anyone, right? Well, she likes him. A little bit too much!”
“Really?”
“It’s nauseating,” Sydney says, turning her face toward me. “I mean, she’s like obsessed with him. She keeps asking me where we stand and when we are taking things to the next level. She thinks he’s a total catch.”
“Well, he is.”
“Yes, but so what? I’m a catch, too.”
“I don’t think anyone is denying that.”
Sydney shakes her head and looks down at the floor.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, putting my arm around her shoulder.
Thick round tears start to roll down her cheeks.
“It’s her,” she whispers when she finally manages to gather her thoughts. “It’s always her.”
I let out a deep sigh.
Like any mother, Hilary possesses the immeasurable power to make her daughter feel like she’s worthless.
Not all mothers choose to wield this power, and some do despite their best efforts.
But Hilary uses it expertly.
“I’m never good enough, Olive. Nothing I ever do is good enough.”
“You’re a wonderful person,” I whisper into her ear, trying to make up for all of her mother’s shortcomings. “It doesn’t matter what she says. Or thinks.”
“I know that.” Sydney nods. “Of course, I know that. But it doesn’t change the fact that she’s my mother and…I want her to be proud of me.”
“I’m sure she is,” I lie.
In reality, I have no idea and I have plenty of doubts.
If Sydney had a normal mother, her prestigious college degree and her well-paying job would be a source of pride. But in Hilary’s ledger, she’s barely meeting minimal expectations.
And when it comes to looks, Sydney falls far below those expectations.
“What did she say to you this time?”
Sydney wipes her eyes and shakes her head.
She opens her mouth, but the words come out in a jumble and she starts to cry again.
On the surface, our mothers couldn’t be any more different but they are identical in how they make us feel.
No matter what we do, we are never good enough.
In her case, Sydney will never be pretty enough or thin enough or smart enough to please her mother.
In my case, I will never be good enough because I’m not my oldest brother.
Hilary’s cruelty is a bit different from my mother’s because with her everything simmers in the shadows.
She will never come right out and tell Sydney that she thinks she’s fat, but she will make comments and insinuations that make that perfectly clear.
The few times that Sydney called her on it, Hilary denied it wholeheartedly, promising that she was just joking and asking Sydney why she has such a terrible sense of humor (an insult wrapped in an insult).
“So, she really likes James?” I ask, trying to get her to open up to me.
“Yes. A lot.”
I smile.
“I know.” Sydney nods. “I was just as shocked as you were. I mean, James wasn’t, but what does he know about Hilary, right?”
“So, what happened?” I ask.
“Brunch at the Ritz went without a hitch. He buttered her up and she ate it all up. Halfway through, I started thinking that she was just putting on an act and that I’ll hear all about how awful he is afterward but I didn’t. She actually liked him.”
“That’s great,” I say.
She pulls away from me.
The expression on her face tells me that maybe it’s not as great as I thought.
“What’s wrong with that?” I ask.
“Now, she’s asking me about where everything is going. All the time. She wants us to move in together. She is hinting at us getting married. And if it doesn’t happen, I know that she is going to put all the blame on me.”
“Get married?” I ask. “But you just met.”
Sydney shrugs and rolls her eyes.
“But you don’t even want to get married, right?”
“No, not really. I mean, I want to be with James. I love him. But the fact that my mother actually likes him, and not just that, likes him a lot…it’s really making me question what I think about him.”