Acceptance

               I yawn and manage to roll myself out of bed and to the window. The sun is just beginning to rise over the quiet suburb, and I do my daily stretches and scratches before heading in to the bathroom. My eyes burn at the bright light as I hop across the cold tiles to the fuzzy mat in front of the sink counter. After splashing the icy cold water on my face to rid myself of what little sleep I got through the night, I look up to my reflection. The words fair, smooth, or porcelain are not the adjectives that came to mind when I see my face; more like speckled with acne marks, sunburnt, oily. My dirt brown hair did not shine or bounce like those models on the shampoo commercials and sparkle was a verb my dull green eyes couldn’t understand. They did, however, master the ability to develop heavy dark bags underneath themselves, probably revenge for making them work through the long night hours bent over case files and making preparations for court.

Ugh! I can already hear my inner mother.

Diana, darling, your face! Quinn never lets her face get that bad. Look at those bags, those wrinkles. You look like an old maid. It’s a wonder what’s-his-name came and married you in the first place. Once word, honey: EXFOLIATION.

“Di…Di!”

The voice fades away and I turn. Jonathan is leaning against the door frame wearing his usual dark blue plaid pajama bottoms and my favorite forest green cotton t-shirt. His straight medium length dark brown hair is tousled, and his dark brown eyes are hidden beneath their lids completely unaware that the rest of his body is no longer in the bed. At first, I thought he had fallen asleep standing there, until he points to my wrist.

“You’re scratching.”

I glance down and see that my anxiety rash is beginning to rear its nasty head once more.

“You’ve got to stop letting her get to you.”

I let out a tired sigh, “I can’t help it. She has a way of crawling under your skin like a parasite.”

Jonathan joins me on my little island of fuzzy warmth as I prepare my toothbrush and leans forwards resting his forearms on the counter top.

“So, why put yourself through a five hour car trip to Florida with your mother?”

I contemplate his question for a moment before spitting, “Because….I don’t know….I just….I’m kind of hoping we can talk…you know…hash out all this mess once and for all.” I let out a frustrated groan as I mirror his stance on the counter, “I don’t know. Maybe there is a part of me that still wants her love. Or at least a compliment….something.”

“That part of you is a masochist.”

I chuckle softly as I playfully swat at his shoulder, “Look, even if I wanted to stay home, I couldn’t. It’s my baby sister’s wedding.”

“But you hate you baby sister.

“Yes, but if I go to this one, I won’t have to go to her next ones.”

“There’ll be more?”

“If memory serves, her dating life was pretty capricious, so yeah, there’ll definitely be more.”

“DIIIIIIAAAAANNNNNNNAAAA!!”

 We both wince at my mother’s banshee shriek.

“I think your mother wants you.”

“Oh really? I just thought it was a horrible car crash outside.”

   “DIIIIIIAAAAANNNNNNNAAAA!!”

“She sounds angry.”

I smile, “She does. Maybe she’ll blow a blood vessel. Like a really important one.”

Jonathan laughs as he pinches my cheek, “D’awww, look at my little optimist!”

 I swat his hand away before moving through our room to the door.

“God speed and go for the throat!”

~~~~~

I slam the electric blue trunk of my 2012 Honda Accord shut as Jonathan kisses me goodbye, “I’ll kill her.” I mutter softly against his lips and he chuckles.

“Please don’t. Hiding a body is at least a two man job.”

“Honestly Diana, how on earth could you have let us get so far behind schedule?!”

I clench my teeth and scowl as I watch my mother sashay down the steps. She wears her latest striped, green Ralph Lauren Maxi dress- priced at $450 and Versace shades and wedges costing roughly $325 separately.

“Oh, how could I be so thoughtless?” I begin derisively, “If only I had tried to tell you countless times throughout the morning to hurry up or even subtlety hint to you the time.”

“YOU actually try at something?” She chortles, “I mean look at you. Did you even TRY when you got dressed this morning?”

She pulls down her shades slightly, giving me a once over before scrunching her face in disgust and walking towards the car.

“I can’t do this.” I mutter taking Jonathan’s hand, “I just can’t.”

“Are you going to stand there or are we going to get on the road. I would like to see my Quinny before her wedding if that’s alright with you!”

Jonathan rubs my shoulders, a sign that even he is finally at a loss for words and watches pathetically as we drive off.

~~~~~~~

The first two hours went by as expected. Mother chatted on and on about how beautiful Quinn looked in her dress, how wonderful a beach side wedding would be this time of year, how handsome and strong Matthew was, and why I couldn’t have married a man who owns his own multimillion dollar company.

“Because I like men who work for their money, not inherit it.”

“Of course,” she says in a sickeningly sweet voice, “Michael-”

“Jonathan.”

“Andrew is a fine young man who…. will…. I mean he will probably hit a six-figure salary before he’s sixty and if he does not well…at least you children will be moderately average looking. That is a plus, right?”

“Are you serious right now?”

“Oh Look! Quinn sent me another photo. OH! Those rooms are absolutely gorgeous! And look at the view!”

I glare at the road ahead of me ignoring the cars that fly by and trying to force myself to dwell on simpler times. Times where it was just me and Jonathan; times where I was actually pretty confident in myself, and especially times- any time in fact-  before I had answered that damn door bell.

My knuckles turn white as I remember my mother hurling through our door with her bags spewing out orders, judgements, and insults before the standard greeting of hello ever passed her lips. Why she moved in with me I have no idea. I always assumed that since Quinn was her favorite, they would live happily together. Mother never tried to hide her favoritism. Even before Quinn was born, I was always an eyesore to her. I was never pretty enough. Never smart enough. I had no fashion sense, no manners, and- apparently- I had a smart mouth even when I was five.

‘Why can’t you be more like Morgana’s little girl, Trish?? She has gorgeous blonde hair and startling hazel eyes. Why do you have to be so normal? You couldn’t even look like your father?!’

But then came beautiful precious baby Quinn. With her bouncy raven black hair, bright luscious grey eyes, a voice like fine velvet.

I mean honestly who says that crap?! She was a squalling, wrinkly little ball of pink fat flesh like all babies. But I didn’t always hate Quinn. In fact, I was happy she came around. I thought maybe I’d finally have someone I can bond with and together we could send our mother to an early grave with the hell that we would wreak on her, but of course all that became pointless once that little jerk grew up to be just like her.

‘Oh Sissy dear, don’t you think that outfit is a little too young for you? A woman your age should be wearing skirts that stop at the ankles. ‘

“Dianna! Are you listening to me?!”

“Honestly, no.”

“I said I was hungry. When are we going to stop and eat?”

“There’s a McDonald’s up ahead. We can stop-“

“I am NOT eating in some rinky dink grease filled dump. Take me somewhere nice. “

“There isn’t anywhere nice.”

“There’s ALWAYS somewhere nice.”

I give an exasperated sigh, “We are already running late. I thought you wanted to see Quinn in her dress.”

“Oh, I’ll see her in it tomorrow. Today is just the rehearsal dinner and her fitting.”

The car swerves from underneath me, but I gain control again, “I thought you said the wedding was today.” I hiss through clenched teeth.

“No, I said it was tomorrow.”

“No,” I begin slowing struggling to keep my rage in check,” You said today.”

“Oh pish posh. What does it matter who said what and when? We’re on the road now.”

“IT MATTERS…it matters because I’ve rearranged my whole work schedule to fit in a wedding that was supposed to be today.”

“Well don’t freak out, just call in sick or something and don’t frown.” She looks over at me and purses her lips together as if she just tasted something bad. “It makes your wrinkles more apparent.”

I take a couple of slow breaths trying to convince myself that swerving off the road and in to a tree at full speed would not solve me problem. “ I have a meeting tomorrow with clients that could either make or break my chances at becoming partner, and you’re telling me not to freak out?”

“Yes, and stop scratching! You’re making me itchy. OH! Carrabbas, take that exit, Dianna, take that one. They are to DIE for.” 

“That’s thirty miles in the wrong direction, Mother. I’m not going there”

“Take the exit, Dianna.”

“We’ll be late.”

“Dianna!”

“Fine!”

Car horns blare at me as I snap the wheel hard crossing over in to the right lane and getting on the exit. The car jumps as I run over a few of the little circles the make up the divide between the exit and the rest of the high way.

“Quinn is by far the better driver and stop SCRATCHING!”            

~~~~~~~~

After a forty-five-minute wait, we are finally guided to a table in the back. We give our orders, and the waiter returns with mother’s wine. The building smelled of different kinds of Italian pastas, wines, and a variety of cheeses. It is warm and the clanking of silverware and glassware ring through the room. I pick up bits and pieces of lively conversation around us, but it’s the silence at our table that catches my attention.

“This is nice, isn’t Diana?”

“Hm.”

“I mean of course you’re not in your best clothes. Your hair looks like a rat’s nest, and your make-up makes you look like one of those tragic clowns, but I suppose it will have to do since we’re here.”

I roll my eyes, “I look fine. Plus, I see several other people in casual clothes.”

“Well, that’s because they can pull the look off. That button up is way too baggie on you. It would have been ok if you had a chest like me or Quinn, but you don’t. Plus blue make you look fat. Also, don’t you think you’re a bit too old to be wearing a skirt like that?”

“You’re the one who insisted on my buying it!”

“Yes, well….it looked better on the mannequin. Must you ruin everything, dear?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose for a moment then scratch my wrist, “I’m sorry. If I had known we’d be taking this outrageous detour, I would have dressed appropriately.” I mutter sarcastically.

“Quinn is always dressed appropriately. That way she is never caught off guard.”

“Well whoop dee freaking do for her.”

Mother takes a sip of her wine and I exhale slowly, “What have I done?”

“Pardon?”

“What have I done? What major embarrassment, sarcastic remark or social taboo have I committed in my past to make you hate me so much?”

She takes another contemplative sip of her wine as she continues to stare at me with her cool calm expression; her icy blue eyes held no warmth. A chill goes down my spine and I look away.

There is no hint of love, no ray of hope.

I swallow nervously.

“You, personally, have done nothing to me. It was your father.”

“What?”

A dark smile forms on her lips, “Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you this for quite some time now, but I was waiting for a moment that just seemed right.” She takes another sip as she settles in to her chair to watch whatever expression that will come on my face.

“ You’re the daughter of some cheap two dollar tramp your father saw while he was on a business trip in New York. The little leech came calling one day demanding that your father pay child support, but what do you thing that lumbering idiot did instead?” Her eyes narrow as she glares off at something in the distance, “He fights for custody, and had the gall to actually win. Then he forces ME to raise you- the sad offspring of some pathetic affair. You’re a constant living breathing reminder that I was never good enough for him.”

She pauses for a moment letting all that she said sink in.

“You’re right to think I favor Quinn over you, but it’s not because she is my actual daughter. It’s because the older you get, the more you look like her.” A look of disgust bleeds across her face, “Even now- all grown up, you’re still the SPITTING image of her.”

I look down at my trembling hands trying to figure out whether it was from rage or sorrow. I feel her eyes like cold daggers on me taking in every twitch and tremble I let slip out. I could almost see that crooked smirk on her haggard old face. I let this woman in to my home. I put up with her constant ridicule and judgement. I sacrificed so much of my life trying to please her only to learn that she hated me because I resembled some woman I didn’t even know.

A woman that fought for me, cared for me, and lost me.

The waitress sets our food down, but I continue to stare at my hands.

“You should really eat, Dianna, dear.” Her cold voice having a triumphant ring to it, “Can’t let good food go to waste.”

I look up at her and watch as she took another bite of the warm garlic bread. She flashes me a serious smile and swallows.

“Delicious.”

I stand.

“I need to clean my face.”

“Oh, goodness, please do. I did not want to say anything, but you really are an ugly crier. Also, while you are in there, do fix your make up. At least try to look presentable. I know I’ve taught you that much.”

I push my chair in and made my way to the restrooms. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, working my face in to a look of calm collection. I watch as my lips tremble again, but I would not cry- not here at least. I was not going to give her anymore satisfaction. I do some final touches to my face, brush some lint of my shirt and shift my skirt back in place before walking out the restroom and then the restaurant without her noticing me.

 I made it back home before night fall.