Jay met the weekend’s conclusion with the relief of a drowning man’s first gulp of air. They wouldn’t have told you that if you’d asked. They didn’t quite realise it themselves. The creeping discomfort subtle enough to only be noticed once it was gone, but potent enough to strangle. Their mother followed as they shuffled out the door, one hand resting casually in their jean pocket, the other on the backpack slung loosely on their back and over-stuffed with recent art assignments. Jay preferred to travel light but, for the sake of Daniel’s curiosity, they made an exception.
“And you’re sure you’ve got everything?” Their mother asked, not quite fussing, as she closed the door behind herself.
Jay jostled the backpack, “Yeah. If I don’t, I’ll learn to live without it for a while.” It was a joke, of sorts, but flavoured more like a forced script. The mood was mutual, Jay’s mother returning a smile that was closer to a grimace. They lingered in the threshold of the house that Jay had grown up in. Both playing through imaginary conversations but neither voicing them.
It was as pleasant a farewell as Jay could have hoped for, until their mother tilted her head half a degree. Jay faltered, their easy smile straining towards neutrality. Not this again.
“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” She started, “It’s not too late to change your mind.”
Resisting the urge to sigh was much more difficult than it had any place being. “I want to be an artist Mum. It’s all I’ve wanted since I was old enough to hold a pencil.”
Their mother put on her concerned look, touching Jay gently on the shoulder as though that might draw them back to her. “I know you’ve always liked your little pictures, but what about your future?”
Jay’s jaw clenched. Still, they managed an even tone. “What about my future?”
She sighed, changing approaches. “You’re so smart sweetheart. I’d hate to see you waste your potential on a dead-end career when you could do so much more.”
This was decidedly not the conversation Jay wanted to finish their visit with. What were they even supposed to say to that? How could they explain themselves if their mother didn’t see the value in their work?
“I want to be an artist,” they repeated, it was the only place they could think to start. “That won’t happen overnight but if I work hard enough, it’s just as possible as any other career. I have the skills, I just need the experience.” When had their hands started to shake?
Another sigh, her hand transferring from Jay to her jaw. Somehow, Jay felt smaller. “I want you to be happy, you know that, but don’t you think it’s a waste? After your father and I worked so hard to get you a good education? Do you really want to throw our efforts away?” She looked at Jay wit those concerned eyes of hers and Jay wanted to cower. “You could transfer your credits. Move to the accounting lines. With your smarts, you’d be the royal treasurer in no time!”
Guilt clawed their guts, but they stood their ground. “I’d be miserable, Mum. I can’t exist in a life without art.”
“Oh, you could still do your drawings! You can just do them in your spare time. In fact, if you got a castle position, the pay’s good so you could retire early and do your drawings then.”
Jay searched her face, hoping to find some evidence that they were being heard at all. All they found were their mother’s dreams of pride and glory.
“I’m not changing my mind or program.”
She clicked her tongue. “What happened to you? You used to be such a good daughter. Now you’re out running wild with the rest of the degenerates. Do you enjoy hurting us?” Any warmth was replaced with an icy, but still concerned tone.
She may wall have slapped Jay. For a moment, they could only stare, teeth clenched on their lip to keep the tears at bay. Then it clicked. A wave of calm. Their mother didn’t love them. She didn’t even know who Jay was. She never even tried to find out. Sterile rage ignited.
Their teeth ground together so hard they could barely get the words out. “I think it’s time I go.”
Too swallowed up by her concerned pity party to see Jay’s hurt, she waved them off. “Fine, fine, go play house at that college. We can talk again when you’ve grown up a little.”
Jay turned to leave. They paused. Rage burned through them. Enough was enough. Turning on their heel, they stared their mother in the eye.
“The person you’re thinking of,” they hissed, “she doesn’t exist! She never did. I invented her. She was a mask I made to make you happy! Have a funeral, mourn for her for all I care. Cremate me on the burnt bridges you’ve left in your wake but f*cking see me. I’m not some doll for you to dress and display and live vicariously through! I am Jay. I am an artist. And I deserve to be happy!”
For a heartbeat, their mother had no words. Only a heartbeat. “How dare you?! How Dare you speak to me like that? I’ve done everything for you.”
“No! No, you haven’t! You’re a wire mother parading as a cloth mother! While you congratulate yourself that your children are fed, they are starving. We are starving Mum! You have no idea who Daniel or I really are.”
Jay stood, panting, heart racing, waiting for their mother to react.
“Leave.” There was hated in her eyes. “Leave and don’t bother crawling back. You’re not my daughter.”
Jay turned, and left. Tears dribbled down their chin. They didn’t bother wiping them away. Penance for freedom.
That was the last time Jay ever saw their family. They aren’t sure how they feel about that.
---
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A manipulative mother is always the victim. You're guilty because you live your life and make her worry about you. You're guilty for not letting her control your personal life, career, education, the way you raise your children, etc.
Yes, you told me yesterday that you're invited for a party and I didn't say anything, because you didn't ask me for permission to go. I didn't say you can go, why are you all dressed up now? NO, YOU DIDN'T ASK, YOU INFORMED ME, SO IT'S A NO
