Mother Knows Best

Please note this story implies verbal and emotional abuse. Do not read if you do not feel comfortable!

“Now you’ll be happy, you’ll see,” I could still hear the words. Words my mother had never spoken until exactly 2 weeks ago. The wedding day had been a grand affair, with multiple buffets for lunch and seven courses in the evening, all provided, of course, with showcooking and a variety of flavors I had never tasted. Richmond drank equal wine as he ate, and my mother eagerly chatted his ears off. She then had congratulated me at least 5 times and told me how I had made it: I had done her proud.

Proud.

It was a word I’m fairly certain she had never associated with me, at least not in a positive way.

In the past days, I tried to do what she said: “Enjoy the luxury, it is ours now, dear.”

My husband was off to a deal in Tokyo. Last night, he sent me a dry text, saying I “didn’t need to worry my pretty head about it,” as he put it.

The room felt warmer now than it had in the past two weeks with him in it. It was clean, grey, and fully his, just as I wanted it. The sheets weren’t cold, the room wasn’t damp, and it didn’t smell sour or foul. There wasn’t much of a smell except freshly clean, a sort of perhaps citrus-smelling detergent that the maids used.

Yet only one thought occurred to me: No broken tap but also none of the countless self-made pillows or my favorite glasses. I frowned and held my head. I must be getting sick. Who would miss that moldy apartment over this mansion?

The best way forward would be a relaxing day alone. I planned to enjoy the sun with a good book and a drink. Perhaps I could invite Janet over for a chat? It had been since the wedding day since I saw her.

I grabbed my new iPhone from the nightstand. My Mom had already called me six times and texted me at least double that. It was only 9 a.m., but then again, she has been calling a lot lately since Richmond, and I got engaged. Even more since the wedding.

I quickly called her back: “Good morning, Mom.” My voice was still groggy from sleeping, but she didn’t comment on it. “Good morning, Marie! So glad to hear from you, darling. Since you told me yesterday that Richmond would be gone for over a month, I felt so sad for you. I have grabbed my bags, and I’m ready for your driver to pick me up. I’ll be staying with you,” she sounded cheerful. “Surprise!”

I bit my lip and thought about that chat with Janet. Mom wouldn’t approve. She never had approved of any of my friends. She would expect me to entertain her all day with our new wealth. Perhaps drink a vintage together and go shopping. She likes shopping, I suppose. She wouldn’t let me sulk around all day.

She, of course, was right; she was my mother after all, but still I felt dizzy and bored thinking about it. All the noise from the mall and the overly expensive Gucci or Louis Vuitton shops she enjoyed visiting.

I just wanted a day to myself again. I hadn’t had one since my mom introduced me to Richmond. “I’m not sure,” I said slowly.

“What?!” I winced, hearing her angry yelling through the phone. “I’m sorry, I meant I haven’t prepared anything for you, Mom,” I lied, or at least attempted. “Oh, darling Marie! Don’t worry, I’m sure you can have anything arranged within the hour now!” She returned to her happy mood. I sighed quietly and told her I would send the driver.

I climbed out of his pristine large bed and wrapped myself in a satin bathrobe hanging ready for me. Then I headed out into the hallway. “Good morning, madame,” one of the maids said. “Morning,” I said as all staff eyes always followed me. Everyone seemed to watch me, constantly. I glanced at my phone, and a girl named Charlotte Dickson had texted me to ask to hang out. I pondered a moment where I had heard that name. I’m sure I had heard it before but perhaps briefly. She wasn’t the first vague acquaintance reaching out; people were texting and calling me left and right. If Richmond was to be believed, she wouldn’t be the last either. Everyone who heard of my wedding suddenly wanted to meet up again. It was heavy on my chest, all the attention for all the wrong reasons. What if my mom was right and even Janet was only still a friend because she also wanted the wealth? Could I trust anyone?

“Hey, uh, can you ask the driver to pick up my mom? She’ll be staying here for awhile,” I told the housekeeper as she greeted me. “Of course, Madame!” She quickly disappeared around the corner.

I sat down and a tray of pancakes, fruits, tea, coffee and even cheese was placed in front of me. I swirled the spoon a bit in the cup and poked with my fork into the pancakes. It would be delicious surely, I—Richmond had a private cook. But I had no appetite for it. I really didn’t feel good at all. I felt sad, not unlike when I had lost my job due to the layoffs. A dull, empty type of sadness that came from having no end in sight, no prospect to look forward to.

Why wasn’t I happy?

It bothered me to no end.

I had done everything right and yet I still felt like I was standing in front of the mountain, nowhere near the top. My stomach felt queasy, and a heavy feeling settled over my chest. What if something is wrong with me? What if my Mom is right and I truly am ungrateful? I should love this life. It is everything I ever wanted.

Time ticked past as the coffee’s steam faded and the pancakes’ warm surface became cold. Still, I was no closer to an answer to my sadness or the sudden pain in my chest and head.

“Marie! Darling! Oh, I’m right on time I see, please don’t eat all that, you’ll be a swine in less than a week!” Mom kissed my cheek and pushed the plate away. “I’m so happy to see you,” she smiled and picked up my fork, taking a bite from the pancakes. She then spat it back out. “You!” she yelled at a maid, “these are cold! Clean it up.” She demanded. Then she threw the plate to the ground as I swallowed hard and offered an apologetic look to the maid.

“I’m glad to see you, Mom,” I smiled, trying to hide the feelings washing over me. I hated how I felt no real joy behind the smile. “Why such a forced face? Didn’t sleep well?” she asked, and before I could answer she continued, “Do you remember when you were little, you always dreamt of a big house, just like me!” She gulped down the pancakes one after the other. I saw myself back as a child, sitting in the park, my mother yelling at my dad and brother. I had my doll with me—Lizzie—and wanted to have a pink car parked next to my small pink house and a husband who owned a small kitten. It was a rather ridiculous dream but it was mine.

How come I never remember things the way my mother does? “I don’t remember, but I’m sure you’re right Mom,” she snorted. “Of course I am.”

The silence fell over us again.

The only sound I could hear was my mother’s chewing and swallowing.

“Mom, I’m—I don’t think I’m happy… Is something wrong with me?” I asked, barely daring to look up to her.

The silence was replaced by laughter—very loud laughter. The kind that made me flinch and tears well up in my eyes. The kind that told me I was about to receive a painful blow to the heart.

“Marie, you’re being hormonal after the wedding. Come on, you always wanted to marry rich,” she grinned, “don’t ruin our moment with your whining.”

She is my mother; she means well, right? Does she mean well? If she does, then I am the problem, I’m the odd duck between us. The ungrateful wife and daughter.

“I want to be happy,” I whispered, “I thought I wanted this, you told me so many times, but I—I don’t feel happy.”

“Yes, lucky for you I told you what to do, or you would have been married to someone like your father and live a life like mine. Dealing with unappreciative and disrespectful children every day!” She crossed her arms, “I am deeply disappointed in you.”

I felt tears well up in my eyes. This was always how it ended. I always found ways to disappoint my mother. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I whispered.

“Don’t start being a whiner. What a weak-minded girl you are.” she rolled her eyes. “Maid bring me a hot coffee.” she continued.

I felt blood rush to my cheeks as my heart started beating faster. Sweat broke out over my forehead and under my armpits. I wanted to slap her to tell her to shut up. But I couldn’t. I am her daughter. She is my mother. I only have her. She isn’t perfect, but she loves me. That is what matters.

She is the reason I married Richmond, graduated from Harvard and wore what I did. She has always helped me so much and advised me so kindly… I am being whiny, she means well.

“I bet this behavior is the result of you hanging around that needy girl. I want you to stop seeing her. No more Jane or Jenna or whatever,” she demanded advised kindly.