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know about it, I can promise you that. I won’t be discreet. I’ll

be the exact opposite of discreet! And I want you to help me

with my art! I want you to actually look at it and see it and

encourage me. I want you to act like you care. You’re my

mom! You have an obligation to support me, not force me to

do something with my life that I’d be miserable doing. You

should just—I wish you would see me. That you’d want to

seem me. For who I am. For who I want to be. You say you

do, but that’s the last thing you’ve ever done. You have never,

ever said you were proud of me. Anything I learned about art I

learned from somewhere and someone else. All I ever wanted

was to learn it from you.”

Emily watched as her mom’s lips started wobbling. She

knew she’d done it. Sandra was seriously pissed and seriously

hurt and that was all mingling together in one nasty mom

tornado that was about to rip through the house. She did feel

bad. Really, she did. She didn’t want to hurt her mom, even if

she wasn’t certain that her emotions were actually genuine and

not staged as they often were.

“Are you finished?” Sandra seethed. “You will get me those

applications by the end of the week and if not, then you aren’t

getting your tuition for the rest of the year. We won’t support

you if you won’t hold up your end of the deal. And I never,

never want to hear talk of us not loving you or accepting you

or forcing you to be something or someone that you’re not. Do

you understand me, Emily Radcliffe?”

“Three times?” Emily unwisely scoffed. She walked to the

fridge and grabbed a bottle of coconut water. It was her

mom’s, and she never drank it, but she knew it would drive her

point home. “Three times you had to use my full name. You