Page 27 of A Heart On A Sleeve

“Mom?” I shift my head out, careful not to expose another inch of skin.

“Yes, hunny. Your father had a meeting in Boston, and I thought it would be fun if we popped in to surprise you.”

“That’s . . . that’s great, Mom. Thank you.” I blink, not fully believing what I’m seeing. Full hair and makeup done, my mother is dressed primly, in a sleek red shift dress and heels. “Are you going somewhere special?” I ask, eyeing her attire.

“Olivia, you know it’s important to put your best foot forward at all times. This is a very normal, casual outfit.” My mother scoffs, then takes in the heap of clothes piled on the chair in the corner of my room.

“You should be ashamed of this mess. Get up and get dressed. We would like to see the town you’ve chosen over Theodore,” she says, her nose in the air as she exits my room.

Damn it! I have to get dolled up just to walk around Mage with the world’s snobbiest couple. I love them, in my own way, but parading around town wasn’t on my agenda today. Also, I’m supposed to be working. Saturdays are busy.

I slip out of bed and put a robe on before grabbing a long-sleeved burgundy velvet dress, tights, undies, and a bra.

I head for the bathroom without glancing at the living room or acknowledging either of my parents.

It’s rude, I know, but so is showing up unannounced when your daughter is in the middle of an existential crisis.

After a quick shower, blowout, a full face of makeup, and dressing, I make my way to face them, dreading every judgment that’s bound to come my way. “Good morning, Dad.” I give him a gentle kiss on the cheek, bending over the tufted chair he’s sitting in reading the newspaper.

“Good morning, Olivia. I take it you didn’t know we were coming?” He raises an eyebrow at me conspiratorially, as if to say silently that he also finds my mother relentless.

“No, but it’s a wonderful surprise. Mom, you look radiant.” I give her a side hug as I plop down beside her on the couch.

“No flopping or slouching, Olivia. You will wear out this fabric in no time.” I straighten my spine and move to perch on the edge of the sofa as she is doing.

“Yes, Mother. Where would you like to go today?” I peer at them both, moving my head back and forth, waiting for the agenda to be set.

“Well, dear. We have already seen your place of work. We stopped in on our way here so that your father could ensure you had the day off.” I groan inwardly.

Beau is going to want to murder me for leaving him all alone on the busiest day of the week.

I hate that my parents feel like they can just show up and demand the day off from my boss on my behalf.

“We would like you to show us the rest of the uptown area, and then, I have arranged for our car service to take us to the city for a nice dinner and a show this evening.”

“Okay, let’s get going. There isn’t much to see, but it’s all within walking distance.

” I stand and head to my shoe rack to grab my black wedge booties.

Bending to zip them up, I notice my father reluctantly placing the paper down as he makes his way to grab his peacoat.

It’s really not that chilly here, but compared to Alabama it does feel brisk.

As we head out, my mother comments on the porch decor. “This is stunning, Olivia. I don’t know how you found the time to do all of this. Did you hire someone?”

“I, um, yes, someone did it for me.” It’s not a complete lie. I didn’t actually do it myself, but I also didn’t pay anyone. If I admit that I’m seeing someone, she will lose her mind. No one except Theodore, the man my mom insists is the one for me, is good enough for her daughter.

“Well, I hope you tipped well. It’s captivating.” She shivers a bit, tightening her scarf as we head down the sidewalk.

We make it about two blocks before her heel catches in the cobblestones while we cross the street.

“This is ridiculous. The city manager should be ashamed of himself. A woman should be able to cross a street without nearly killing herself.” She whines and crosses her arms as my father dutifully drops to a squat and works to unstick her heel.

“Wedges.” I point to my shoes. “You have to wear these here.” I don’t acknowledge her attitude or the air of pure superiority she exudes.

It’s honestly hilarious how Anne Bowman, a once poor farm girl, could be so uppity.

My father is from old money, and she behaves like she was born into it too, not like someone who is only one divorce away from having nothing again.

It makes me a little sick how much I have aimed to please her throughout my life.

Even living in the most gorgeous place on earth isn’t good enough.

We make our way into the square—yes, I warn her about the crosswind so she doesn’t flash anyone—and we head into the Brewhouse for a warm pick-me-up.

“This is adorable. I love the aesthetic. Richard, take a few pictures so we can have Tabitha mimic this in the sitting room.” She orders my father around, and, like the good lackey he is, he does what she says while I place the order for two black coffees for them and a pumpkin spiced latte for me.

Once we have coffees in hand, we mosey next door to a cute little decor and gift shop.

It smells like heaven as the scents of fall waft through the store and the cozy could-be-on-HGTV vibe envelops us.

“I haven’t had a ton of time to explore all the shops just yet. But this is one of my favorites. There are so many cute items. Once I earn a bit more, I’m planning to get all of my home decor from here,” I whisper quietly to my parents as we look around.

“You do still have the card we gave you, don’t you?” My dad’s face is marked with concern as he worries that I don’t have access to their unlimited coffers.

“Yes, but I’m trying to make it without your money. No offense.” I run my hand over a knotted rug, feeling the rough yet smooth texture against my palm.

“That’s nonsense, Olivia. What would you like here? We can buy one of everything.” My father starts his trek to the checkout counter prepared to do just that, but my mother stops him by putting a hand across his chest.

“No, Richard. She walked away from the life we worked so hard to give her. If she wants to live this life on her own, she’s going to have to do it the hard way.” With the gauntlet dropped, she exits the shop, the door’s small bell ringing in my ears.

After a few more stops and judgments, we make our way back to the cottage to relax—in other words, my mother makes herself at home, reorganizing my cupboards, commenting on my scandalous choice in books, and perusing my closet.

My father reads his newspaper and stays silent.

We spend an hour doing this awkward song and dance before my phone rings and my mom notices someone named Sam is trying to get ahold of me.

I silence the phone and tuck it into the pocket of my dress.

I haven’t responded to him once today, despite his attempts to check on me.

I’m not avoiding him, but I also don’t know what to say.

I can’t keep lying to him, and I can’t tell him the truth.

Not to mention, I wouldn’t dare introduce him to my parents.

They are nothing like his. They are not warm and inviting.

He would hate them, and they would judge him.

“Who was that?” my mom asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

“No one.” I cross my arms and lean against the kitchen counter.

“If it was no one, then why didn’t you answer?” She’s on the scent like a bloodhound searching for its next kill.

“I can call him back later. It’s not a big deal.” I turn and grab a glass from the cabinet before attempting to fill it with water.

“ Him? What would poor Teddy think?” she hisses in a breath.

“Teddy? Is that what we are calling him now?” I set my glass on the counter, spinning to face her.

“Yes, he is going to be my son-in-law. Of course I have a nickname for him.” She feigns innocence.

“No, Mother, he isn’t. Unless you have another daughter, there is zero chance that Theodore is ever going to be your son-in-law.

” I’ve had enough. Enough of the meddling, enough of the demanding way she tries to dictate my life, and enough of the showing up unannounced.

It’s too much, and frankly I don’t even understand why she wants to be around me.

When she is, nothing I do is ever good enough.

“You will come around. Once you come to your senses and realize you’re done living in this squalor. I just hope he waits that long.” She shifts on her feet and crosses her arms in defiance.

“Out!” I shout at her, my voice shaking. I point toward the door as my stomach lurches to my throat. I’ve never once in my life stood up to her. But for some reason, today I feel like I can. It strikes me as odd, but it’s freeing at the same time.

“Excuse me? Do not yell at your mother, young lady.” Richard has decided to enter the conversation.

“This is my home. Which I pay for completely on my own. I love you both very much and appreciate all you have done for me, but enough is enough. You show up unannounced, judge me and this beautiful town, and now you are trying to dictate who I spend my life with. Nope.” I pop the p in the word for effect.

“Get out and do not come back without calling first, ready to apologize.” They look stricken, as if I have just laid out the most despicable behavior they have ever seen.

To be fair, I’ve never once raised my voice to either of them.

My mother grabs her coat, scarf, and purse and scurries onto the porch, slamming the door behind her so hard the walls rattle.

My father approaches, kissing my forehead and whispering that he loves me before following her and shutting the door softly behind him.

It’s at this moment, for the first time ever, that I truly see him as spineless.

He allows her to run his life, and he follows along with her ideas even when they’re wrong.

I grab a bottle of wine and an opener from the cabinet, then go to draw a bath.

Pouring bubbles into the tub as the warm water splashes and fills it, I undress and uncork the wine.

It isn’t until I’m soaking and a few glugs into the bottle of red that I realize my tattoo is changing again.

It’s been one week and the tattoo covers most of my upper arm now, a few of the pieces are permanent, like the book, the truck, the pumpkins, and Boo.

But woven in between are pictures that change with every thought or feeling that pops into my head.

It hits me that this is a reflection of my life, like a live action reel depicting it as it unfolds.

The red streaks mimic my rage, the bubbles blossoming represent the soothing bath I’m taking, and there’s even a bottle of wine continuously pouring red liquid that drips down my arm only to fall into nothingness.

It’s weird having my internal war that’s raging visible in technicolor before my very eyes.

At the same time, where my usual inner monologue is muddy and full of self-doubt, this makes it easier to unscramble my emotions, and I’m not sure what that says about me.