I paced Mum’s living room, feeling restless. What was I even doing here? Ever since I’d talked to Karen my mind had been filled with endless questions. Adam had voiced the same questions before, but I’d always ignored him. I was loyal to Mum. But now the questions wouldn’t subside.
Neither would the guilt.
I was wrong to think badly of her. She was my mum. Her actions had always been driven by her love. She had always done what she believed was best for me.
Her intentions were pure. Who was I to criticise her for any mistakes she might have made? I was hardly perfect. And yet I had talked about her behind her back. I’d led Karen to believe my negative beliefs were Mum’s fault.
I took a deep breath as another wave of nausea washed over me. I felt so guilty. I was a bad daughter to even think such things. And yet, I still couldn’t help but wonder if Karen was right.
‘So, what brings you here?’ Mum asked as she carried a tray of tea into the living room.
‘I just needed to see you.’
Mum smiled. ‘I knew you’d be back eventually. You’re not strong enough to stay in that apartment alone.’
You’re not strong enough.
I swallowed. Wasn’t that practically what I had said to Karen, that I wasn’t good enough? Was Karen right? Had ‘you’re not’ become ‘I’m not’? Had Mum’s opinions become mine?
And if so, when had it happened?
Why hadn’t I seen it?
Why hadn’t I stopped it?
My grandparents’ photo on the sideboard caught my attention. I picked it up and studied the faces. I tried to remember what things had been like before they’d died; before we moved here.
‘What were they like?’ I asked Mum, without shifting my gaze.
‘Don’t you remember?’ She sounded hurt. They were her parents and I had forgotten them.
‘Not properly. I was only little when we lost them. I remember I loved them a lot and I used to love our visits here.’
‘They were…’ Mum paused. ‘Passionate about what they believed in.’
I tilted my head to the right. ‘That doesn’t necessarily sound like a good quality.’ At least not the way Mum said it.
‘They were good people. Just a little hard to please. They had high expectations.’
I perched on the arm of the sofa. How had I not known that before? Mum had always spoken of her parents with such admiration. She idolised them.
Didn’t she?
‘You always seemed so close.’
‘I wanted to be. I’d have done anything for them.’
‘Even moving into their house to fulfil their dream.’
Mum nodded and leaned forward to pour the tea. ‘It’s their legacy. It’s all I have left of them.’
‘But does it make you happy?’
Mum’s head jolted up and she stared at me. ‘Your dad asked me that same question a long time ago.’
I stared at her. She’d mentioned Dad. She never spoke of him. And yet for the second time this week she had brought him into the conversation.
I swallowed. ‘And what was your reply?’
Mum frowned. ‘I don’t think I gave him an answer.’
‘Why not?’
‘The question was irrelevant.’
‘No, it’s not. Your happiness should never be irrelevant. It matters. It should matter to you, too.’
I took a shaky breath. My words had been full of conviction and passion. But it wasn’t just Mum who needed to listen to them; I did too. Hadn’t I been doing exactly what she had done? I’d put her happiness above my own. I thought that made me a good daughter. A good person. But was I really responsible for her happiness?
Mum was still living her life in a way that made her parents happy, even though they’d been gone for twenty-four years. Where did it end? When was enough?
I’d done the same. I’d spent my life trying to make Mum happy; to be the daughter she needed; the company; the support; the help. But it was never enough. It had never been what she needed. It didn’t matter what I did, I would never be able to make her happy. Only she could do that.
Adam had tried to tell me.
‘No matter how much you do, Jess, it’ll never be enough.’
‘That’s not fair. You make Mum sound greedy, as though she’ll always want more.’
‘It’s not her fault. Not entirely. It’s just that she’s set you an impossible task, but neither of you even realise it.’
‘What I do has an impact on Mum. We’re connected. My words and actions affect her. I can make her happy or I can make her sad. I’m responsible for that.’
‘No, you’re not. You’re only responsible for your own happiness, Jess. No one else’s.’
‘But my actions have repercussions.’
‘I’m not saying you should intentionally hurt her. You can still act compassionately, but ultimately what you do should be based on what you want. Only she is responsible for how she chooses to feel about things. Yes, you might disappoint her if you don’t visit her occasionally. But it’s her decision whether to dwell on that or move on. It’s her decision whether she sits at home alone engulfed in self-pity, or picks up her bag and goes out to the cinema, or takes up a cooking class.’
I studied him silently. Logically what he was saying made sense, but it wasn’t that simple. Mum and I were different. Our relationship was different.
‘You don’t decide her reactions. You only decide your own.’
I’d ignored Adam’s words. I hadn’t listened. Not properly. I hadn’t wanted to hear. But I understood it now.
I wanted Mum to be happy, but maybe her needs shouldn’t outweigh my own. Wanting her to be happy shouldn’t mean my own happiness was sacrificed.
My hand shook as I stood up and placed the photo back on the sideboard.
My beliefs and feelings about myself were defined by Mum. Dating Adam was the first time I’d gone against her. I’d finally taken a small step to putting what I wanted first. He made me feel better about myself. I craved his encouragement. His approval. I was dependent on it. It wasn’t just Mum’s voice in my head now, it was Adam’s too.
And I would never live up to either of them.
Adam was right, I had been trying to achieve something that was impossible. I’d measured my self-worth by how happy I made someone else. I’d made myself feel guilty and inadequate because, no matter what I did, I always failed. But Mum’s happiness had never been in my control. Success was always going to be out of reach.
Just as it was for Mum.
‘What would you do if you didn’t feel compelled to live here? If you ignored what your parents wanted for a moment and just thought about what you want?’
‘I won’t discard what they wanted for me. They worked hard to give me everything they could.’ Mum sniffed. ‘Everything they had.’
‘But was their house really what you wanted from them? Wasn’t their unconditional love more important, regardless of whether you did as they dictated?’
‘They loved me.’ Mum’s eyes glazed over as she stared at the photo. ‘In their own way.’
‘But isn’t it time to think about what you want?’
Mum stared at me for a moment before reaching out her hand towards me. I stepped forwards and took her hand in mine.
‘I have what I want. You are my world.’
A cold chill ran through my body. She would never be free of her parents’ hold over her.
And neither would I.