Daughter, Daughter

Mothers are supposed to love their children. It's just how it's meant to be. The sun rises every day, grass is green, and mothers love their children.

But sometimes it's dark out, and sometimes the grass dies, and sometimes you're just not enough.

When Elle was younger, she was her mother's entire world. She was the only girl in her family.

"All I ever wanted was a little girl."

In fact, her mother was her best friend. They used to have these cute little mother-daughter dates. They'd go watch a movie or get their nails done, always ending it with ice cream. Elle didn't really like ice cream very much. It was fine. Just too cold.

She used to run home and write it in her diary, how much fun she had. Oh, how she misses those days.

She grew up, though. And they'd go out together less and less. Everyone always assumes the daughter pulls back. They always assume it's the teenager's fault for being distant and angsty. They assume she hates her mother or she's afraid she'll turn into her. Maybe that's the case for most people.

Maybe in another life, the pair come back from it. The daughter grows out of it and the relationship mends itself with a little bit of work.

"It's just a phase."

Maybe it doesn't always end with dodged phone calls until they stop calling. Maybe it's not always white weddings without mothers. Maybe it doesn't have to be screaming and crying until daughters storm out.

It didn't really go like that, though.

Elle has a habit of romanticising the drama.

Maybe it was really just her lack of…

Her lack. She was always lacking.

"Aren't your brothers so smart?"

She never could meet those expectations. She used to try, once upon a time. She'd put on the dresses, play with the dolls, and paint her nails. But it was never right. And that's not to say you can't like those things and be like Elle, but Elle always felt like a stereotype.

She wondered once, from her spot on the dusty shelf, sitting between sweaters and old toys, how they never knew.

How it took words articulated so gently, so carefully, so fearfully, for them to learn.

She always lived in fear that they'd find out. She stopped keeping a diary. Started deleting texts.

Sometimes, when she's in bed while her wife is away, she'll quietly mourn the childhood she lost. The bits and pieces she couldn't hold onto. The memories she can't look back on anymore.

She tried to push it down for a while. She tried so, so hard. Again and again, but it wasn't enough and it wasn't right.

She tried boys and makeup and therapy. But the boys didn't take and the therapists just told her to be honest. She'd enjoyed the makeup, though. Not that it made much of a difference. A pretty lesbian is still a lesbian.

"You look like such a beautiful young lady in that dress."

But at least she'd tried.

Maybe if she had tried as much as she had cried.

She'd spent countless nights crying into her pillow. She had to keep quiet, of course. If anyone heard, she'd be forced to come clean. So she'd muffle her tears in her polka dot sheets and pray.

Elle used to pray a lot.

Dear Jesus, please keep Daddy's flight safe on his way home.

Dear Jesus, I would love a new softball bag for Christmas.

Dear Jesus, please make the new baby a girl. I really, really want a sister.

Then she'd feel guilty for always asking for so much.

Dear Jesus, thank you for all the food and water and my mom and my dad and my brothers and my dog and my fish.

And sometimes she'd pray again, after everyone was asleep. When the house was quiet, and her words were between only her and God.

I don't want to be this way.

Please, fix me.

She definitely asked for too much.

Her mother tried at first to accept her. Or maybe she didn't, Elle couldn't really be sure of anything after that night.

Her mother nodded, lips pursed tight, and they finished dinner. They didn't really talk about it again.

At first, Elle thought that was great. She thought nothing had changed.

God, she'd been so naive.

Everything had changed.

No more girls' days. No more nails and movies and ice cream. No more hugs and kisses.

"Oh, daughter, daughter, my baby girl."

She missed the hugs most of all; being wrapped up in your mother's warm embrace was a gift like no other. A gift she'd never get again.

She knew she was wrong; she knew it was her own fault. That's the reason she pulled back, of course. She knew her mother was looking at her too differently, if she even looked at all. She figured she'd save herself the heartbreak and pull away before things got messy.

She always quit before it got too hard.

Her mother tried, just not in the right ways.

"You know, there's this nice boy at church…"

Never in the right way.

When Elle met her wife for the first time, when she knew that she'd met the one, all she wanted to do was tell her mother.

She cried again that night, always crying.

The night she'd been proposed to, Elle cried again. All her friends cheered; they thought she'd been overwhelmed with happiness.

Really, she'd looked around and realized who was missing.

She just wanted her mother.

She cried again on her wedding night, when her parents didn't come. She hadn't even invited them, long since given up.

She's thought about it every day since she left. Maybe she should've stayed; maybe she was supposed to fix it. Someone was supposed to fix them.

"Or maybe it all worked out this way for a reason," She thinks as she holds her daughter for the first time. A precious baby girl that she'll love and protect for the rest of her life. She cries the night they bring her home from the hospital, mourning the fact that she'll never get to meet her grandmother.

But she won't make the same mistakes. She'll be better.

Mothers are supposed to love their children.