24
A Mother’s Love
Vanessa
Curled into herself on the damp asphalt, her hair lay on the ground, where the icy cold was seeping into the locks. She couldn’t believe what she had just said to the detective. Yet another obstacle put into the path of the Collective by her stupidity. She shouldn’t have called the man in her state, she should have known better. Rising onto her knees, the pebbles of asphalt that were on her palms scratched against the brick as she used the wall of the building to pull herself to her feet. It was like dragging herself out of a mud pit, the dirt clinging on like a second skin, weighing her down with a level of exhaustion she had never experienced before.
As she emerged from the alley, she stopped on the sidewalk. The entrance to the Collective’s headquarters was shut. For a moment she contemplated going back inside, but then she remembered their anger, and the disgust that her betrayal had caused, theirs or hers. Feet dragging on the cement, she walked away from the building.
Unsure of where to go, she wandered down street after street in the old city. Businesses and houses passed her by, muted grey watercolors on the edges of her vision as she journeyed down the endless concrete paths. Mothers and their children avoided her, crossing through traffic or ducking into buildings. She didn’t mind. She would avoid her too, given the chance.
An hour into this aimless wandering, and by the time that even her thighs were numb to the core from the cold, the buildings had changed from the derelict to the splendid. Familiar sights appeared with each corner she turned: a school she used to go to, the porch where she had her first kiss. Whatever happened to that boy? It was a well worn path, filled with memories that only surfaced now that she was here again, and she followed it to its conclusion. Climbing the steps of a modest home of pale brick, identical to every other home on the block, she was pulled forward by the blissful ignorance of childhood. She rang the bell, no longer having a key. A muffled six note chime rang out behind the door, and a moment later it was opened to reveal a slight older woman.
She was clean and polished in her cream colored blouse and flowing pants, carrying herself with a level of importance that Vanessa could never hope to aspire to. Hair, a deep brown that was streaked with grey, fell over her shoulders in a beautiful wave to frame her shocked face.
“Vanessa?”
She said nothing as she stared at the woman for a moment. After everything, she still felt the clench in her chest, the desire to love and be loved. A sob escaped her as her face crumbled.
“Mom.”
Her mother rushed forward, ushering her into the entryway of the home, shutting the door behind them.
“What are you doing here? What happened? Oh, you’re a mess.”
Clucking over her like a distressed hen, the woman held up a damp strand of Vanessa’s hair. To her mortification, the clump of hair had dirt and some tiny rocks within the tangles. Her mom tutted in disapproval.
“Come on, this won’t do. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Vanessa let herself forget why four years had passed since she had last spoken to her parents as her mother led her up the stairs of her childhood home and drew a hot bath. She needed this, if only for a short while. Her fingers were numb, refusing to cooperate enough to undo the buttons at the front of her coat. After several attempts, and only one button being released, she gave up and dropped her arms, allowing her mother to help her undress. The steaming bathwater burned her skin as she sank into the gleaming clawfoot tub in the large, pristine bathroom.
Unlike the bath in her apartment, this one was big enough to submerge her entire body, and the oils floating on top of the water smelled like a meadow. Slowly, her muscles and joints thawed, until even her bones seemed to relax. She sighed and leaned the back of her head against the rim of the tub. Her mother bustled around the tiled room, removing her soiled clothes from the floor, and cleaning the dirt she had tracked onto the gleaming tile. Strange, of all the things, she had forgotten how clean everything was here.
Dirty clothes in hand, and held at a distance, her mother left the room. She returned a few minutes later with fresh clothes. The pants were hung from a hook on the door, while a sweater and undergarments were set, neatly folded, onto a white tufted bench that sat against one wall.
“Let me help you,” the older woman said, grabbing an expensive bottle of shampoo from the marble countertop.
Vanessa put up no protest as her mother scrubbed her hair clean. She had learned long ago not to question the woman when she was on a mission. If mother wanted to pamper her today, she wasn’t going to complain.
Once clean, skin blushed red from the intensity of her mother’s scrubbing, she dried off and put on the clothes that were supplied. Everything was cream. Cream slacks with wide legs that waved like a pleasant summer breeze when she walked, and a soft cream turtleneck sweater with a thin delicate knit. It clung to her body enough to be attractive, while avoiding being immodest. Even the bra and panties she was given were of the same golden white color. The clothes felt exquisite on her skin, of a higher quality than she could afford for herself, but they itched with the memory of overbearing expectations.
Her mother guided her to sit on a stool in front of the vanity. In the mirror, her hair was saturated with a sweet smelling product, dried, and styled. A relaxed wave, which cascaded over one shoulder like a waterfall of shining, silky chocolate. With a simple application of blush and mascara, her mother deemed her worthy of being allowed into the rest of the house, a perfect doll to decorate her parent’s perfect home.
They descended the stairs together, and Vanessa turned to head for the kitchen. Her mother grabbed her arm to stop her.
“You don’t think I got you all done up to hide away, do you?”
Of course, she forgot. Her parents never could go a single weekend without entertaining guests when she was younger.
“No, mom. I don’t want to socialize right now. Tell dad to come to the kitchen if he wants to say hello.”
Rather than let her go, her mom linked an arm with hers. “Nonsense,” she said, “he will be so happy to see you home. You couldn’t have come on a better day.”
She had no time to wonder what her mother meant by her words, or the excitement in her tone, as the woman dragged her through a set of double doors into the sitting room of the home.
“Look who’s here!”
The cheerful tone of her mother’s pronouncement died in her ears as she took in the scene in front of her.
Her father, dressed smartly in gray slacks and a light sweater, was sitting in one of the overstuffed floral armchairs. Sitting on the sofa next to him, dressed casual in an emerald cashmere turtleneck and tan slacks, was Chance Barron. He stood when she entered, like the perfect gentleman she knew him not to be, and smiled in happy surprise. The small teacup and saucer he held looked like a child’s toy in his hands. Lightning shot through her heart at the sight of him.
“What is he doing here?” She directed the question at her father, who looked at her in surprise. He stood and walked over to her, pulling her into a hug that she did not return.
“Oh, my darling girl! It’s wonderful to see you after so long.”
“What is he doing here,” she asked him again, her teeth clenched, along with the rest of her muscles.
“Oh,” her father laughed, as if he had only just remembered the indelible Senator that currently disgraced his parlor. “Mr. Barron here has come to petition for your hand. Well done, darling!”
All feeling drained out of her, the hugs and congratulations from her parents a static noise in the background as she looked over at the man in question. He somehow appeared larger than ever as he stood, a dark stain on the clean brightness of her childhood home. Lifting the gold-rimmed teacup to his face, he paused to give her a salute before he took a sip. The cup hid the smile he was wearing, which promised that all of her nightmares were about to come true. Her feet moved, her parents leading her to the side of the room that he stood, and she snapped out of her shock.
“No!” Pulling her arms from their grasps, she took several steps back.
Her mother’s mouth dropped open, her father’s eyebrows shooting for his hairline as they looked back at her.
“No,” she said again, shaking her head. “I won’t marry him. Choose someone else.” Her last statement she directed at her father, pleading with him to save her from this madness.
“Vanessa!” her mother whispered, eyes wide.
She knew that tone, and felt the old pull to fall in line and stop being an embarrassment. She ignored it, grabbing onto her father’s hand in both of hers as her parents made their way back to her.
“Please, Daddy,” she whispered. “Anyone else. I’ll marry anyone else you choose, I promise. Please, not him.” A stinging struck the back of her eyes.
Her father looked surprised by her objection, and brought his other hand to cover hers, his skin warm and soft. “I’m sorry, dear,” he said, “but we’ve already signed the contract. He made a very generous offer.”
“Offer?” She looked back and forth between his eyes, certain that she must have misheard him, but his expression remained the same. “Am I a commodity to be sold to the highest bidder?”
He stared, gaping like a fish. She pulled her hands from his, her mother’s hands landing on her arm as she turned to leave.
“Young lady—”
“Don’t!” Yanking her arm from her mother’s grasp, she left the room. In the front hall, a shaking hand over her mouth as she tried to calm her breathing, muffled voices drifted to her from the closed doors of the sitting room.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Barron. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”
Her mother’s voice.
“It’s quite alright. I know what a difficult time of a woman’s life this can be.”
“You are most generous to give her your grace. She has always… struggled with the rules of our society. I have no doubt that she’ll fare better in her new life with you.”
Her father’s words stung like a slap to her face, and the nausea that rolled in her stomach at Barron’s response made her gag.
“Don’t you worry, I’ll keep her out of trouble.”
She fell against the doorway of the front entrance, stepping on the bottom of her mother’s beautiful pants in her hurry. Pulling her old dirty boots over the clean fabric, the front door slammed open as she bolted from the home.
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