Southern Belle

Sensitive content warning:

Strong language, topics of emotional abuse, suggestive sexual themes

A somber blue undertone permeates my home as early winter morning unapologetically sets in. I stand in my front room, basking in the whimsical sight of frost glistening against the awakening sun. There's a slight chill seeping through the window pane. I shiver slightly, wrapping my cardigan tightly around myself as I sip on my hot coffee.

Moments later, the wood flooring creaks and pops under the weight of my love as he hops down the steps, embracing me from behind and giving me a warm kiss on the neck. We stand there interlocked, absorbing the serene silence for several minutes before he kisses me on the temple and leaves me for his morning shower.  

Once the cup is empty, the true nature of the day surrounds me like an albatross of dread, ready to devour my inner being. I let out an audible sigh. Today, I'm having the long awaited lunch with my mother. I've simply put it off to the point where I no longer have a viable excuse that wouldn't cause suspicion or worry about my general wellbeing. I place the coffee cup on the countertop and sluggishly shuffle my feet up the stairs. 

Clothes embody my floor as I snag the last of my wardrobe out of my dresser. Scowling in the mirror, I hold the material up to my chest in hopes that I've finally found something that's adequate in the eyes of my mother. I eventually make peace with a pink flared dress, a weathered jean jacket and stockings to deter the blistering cold; finishing off the look with brown knee high boots. Modest yet modern. My mother's selftitled endowment towards fashion is already echoing in my head as I spin around in the mirror one more time,  making my final inspection before grabbing my purse and heading out the door.

--

"Rosie, what on Earth are you wearing?" She's already snarling as I hop out of the car.  

"It's a dress,  mom," I say dryly.

"I raised you to be a lady, to be modest.  How in the heavens is that modest?  I can see your breasts with nothing left to the imagination!"

I roll my eyes and walk towards the door of the cafe, my mother still barking behind me. She is the epitome of a southern belle with her makeup and hair always done, occupying the first row pew at church every Sunday and Wednesday. Eloquent and poised--everything I am not.

A teenage boy, probably seventeen or so, wearing a black button down and black slacks mets us outside, holding the door and welcoming us in.

"What a gentleman?! Thank you, dear!" She's turned on her southern charm, hypnotizing the general population with her condescending, holier-than-thou bullshit. 

I ignore the dramatics,  walking up to the hostess and politely requesting a table for two with a smile as if I'm having the time of my life.

--

Before we even order, she already has the waiter blushing, reeking of fake compliments she's going to forfeit as soon as he walks away. Sure enough, once we're left alone, her smile fades into a look of judgement and utter disgust.

"You really should smile more," she nags. 

 "I smile when I find it appropriate to do so," I interject without breaking eye contact from my menu.

" Well in that case, maybe you should deem it appropriate to smile more. How are you going to find a respectable husband scowling like that all of the time. You have to appear inviting in order for people to like you, dear. How about making an effort while you're at it. Would it kill you to wear some natural makeup or even just put on some mascara and lipstick from time to time? You need to accentuate your feminine figures for prospective suitors."

I firmly place my menu on the table, glaring at my mother with burning disdain. 

" Why are our outings always superimposed by your wants and needs? I will find a partner when I am good and ready. Perhaps you should consider that marriage is not my top priority at this moment in my life."

" Time is not your friend,  dear.  If you don't prioritize a family, you are going to die alone and miserable. Do you think that's what I want for you?"

" Goddamn it, having a man is not the determining factor on whether I am happy with my life or whether I am miserable. I value my education,  my career,  and the occasional entanglement of a smoking hot stranger that subsequently goes home and leaves me the fuck alone."

My mother gasps in disbelief as to what I had just said to her, in public nonetheless. She grabs her chest, "Do not say the lord's name in vain,  I did not raise you to be that way. Maybe you should accompany me to church and exorcise whatever demons you have lurking in your heart," she takes a sip of water to finish choking down the ugly truth. 

I huff, ready to spit my words like venom into her smug little face when the waiter returns to take our order. We both smile, pretending like we are sharing nothing other than pleasantries amongst ourselves. 

My mother groaned at my lunch choice, but afterwards not another word was shared between us. Deafening silence sets in as I finish up, ready to conclude this torturous encounter.

" I have lots of work I need to get done for my presentation on Monday, I really must be going. We should do this again sometime, seeing how this exchange was so fucking pleasent" I softly place my napkin on my plate and make my way to the door. 

I turn back around before making my exit. My mother hasn't moved from the table, pain and misunderstanding in her eyes as if she were a child that had just been scolded for drawing on the walls. A black veil of grief and regret encircles me, shattering my heart in a way that makes it impossible for therapy to repair.

I calmly walk back over to the table, leaning down and whispering,  "I love you,  mom," kissing her on the cheek before I make my way out of the door, and once again, out of her life.

I want so much to confide in her. The emptiness in my chest consumes me on days like today. Craving the love and appreciation that I wholeheartedly understand I deserve, with the fear of knowing I will never get that from her. She knows nothing of my life. I will never bond with her over some sweet tea, rocking back and forth on her front porch in the heat of July. She will never know of my love for Rick because unfortunately, I am the thorn in her side that she cannot render useful. I am becoming comfortably numb in the fact that my love for her is the same kind of love one would have towards a fire. One that's best felt as far away as possible so that you don't run the chance of being burned.

Rick and I will be moving further south in the spring where we will contentedly raise our unborn child and she will never see me again.