Page 37 of Broken Chords
One thing I’ve learned from my mom is that when you find yourself in a position of weakness, always go on the attack. You might be able to wrong-foot the person in the dominant position and gain control of the situation. Or at least buy yourself time to extricate yourself gracefully or mitigate whatever damage is imminent.
Right now I’m going for gaining control, but I’ll take damage mitigation.
“You finally deign to answer your phone, and you greet me like that?” Her voice is icy, the polar opposite of the hot rage scalding my veins.
“Yes. You’re the one who’s been calling nonstop for almost an hour. Who does that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps a mother who hasn’t heard from her daughter in months?”
“Oh, well, perhaps if said mother weren’t trying to coerce her daughter into doing things she didn’t want every time she called, she’d get a call back. All of your messages have been about upcoming performance opportunities that I do. Not. Want. I made that clear before I left. I’m taking time off. That means no recording, no tours, no performances. None.”
“Charlotte, you need to be reasonable.”
A laugh splutters out of me. “I’m the one being unreasonable?”
“You are single handedly destroying everything we’ve worked for over the last decade. And for what? So you can play piano at some no name school in flyover country? How long are you going to keep up this preposterous charade?”
I glance around the room, my mouth hanging open. “Preposterous charade? Me wanting to go to college is a preposterous charade? I just want to know what it’s like to be normal for a change. To decide what I want to do with my life—you know, like most twenty-one year olds do—and it’s a preposterous charade.”
“Charlotte—” Mom cuts in, but I don’t let her keep going.
“You know what’s funny, Mom? I’m the only person I know who’s had to fight with their parents about going to college. I know a few people who’d have liked to take a year off before starting their degree. But me? My big rebellion is—get this—getting an education.”
She sighs. The sound so heavy and full of disappointment, I can feel it like a physical thing. “You’ll never know what it’s like to be normal. Not really. You haven’t had a normal life. Even now, your life isn’t normal compared to your classmates. Because none of them have the choices and opportunities you have. And what are you going to do? Stay there for four years? Lose everything we’ve worked for? Disappoint your legion of fans? Really? And what are you going to do with a music degree in piano performance? You’re already a performer. You won’t learn anything there you don’t already know.”
“You’re wrong, Mom.” Tears flood my eyes, and I blink hard to dispel them, hating the fact that I cry when I get really angry. “I’ve learned a lot already. And I’ll keep learning as long as I’m here.”
She scoffs, and I close my eyes tightly. A tear leaks out of my right eye.
“Charlotte. You need to listen to me. I didn’t call to get into an argument with you.”
“Then why did you call?” I’m proud of the fact that my voice is steady, if a little snarly. No hint of the tears in my eyes choking my vocal chords. All that vocal training has paid off in more ways than one.
Her frustrated sigh settles on me, another layer of parental disappointment. “If you’ll quit interrupting me, I’ll tell you.” The icy edge is back, her words sharp and shiny like icicles.
She waits, but this time I maintain my silence. Arguing with her is as useless as it always was. Starting out on the attack didn’t allow me to gain control of the conversation. I should’ve known better.
When she’s decided I’m not going to interrupt again, she speaks, her voice more controlled and businesslike. Still brusque, but not sharpened daggers made of ice. “I’m sure you’ve seen the speculation about your sudden disappearance from everywhere. You need to make an appearance. I have the contract for your performance at New Year’s Rockin’ Eve. It’s just one song. We’ll do a pared down version of one of your singles from the last album with a few backup dancers. Show everyone that you’re still on your game and not in rehab. I’ve also lined up a few interviews. Jimmy Kimmel had a cancellation for the week after next, so I booked the slot for you.”
My mouth drops open at the mention of the New Year’s Rockin’ Eve performance. And the ball of rage in the pit of my stomach only grows larger when she starts talking about the interviews. “Mom.”
She continues as though I haven’t spoken. “You’ll need to fly to their studio, but we’ll send the plane for you, so that should be no problem. The other is with a magazine, complete with a photo spread.”
“Mom,” I say again louder.
“I don’t know what your diet has been like there, but since you’re going for the whole ‘real college girl’ experience, I’m guessing not great. I’ll email you a diet plan to help you drop at least five pounds in a hurry.”
“Mother.” My voice is a growl.
“Now, I know you don’t like juice fasts, but these magazines always want skin, so you’ll just have to suck it up. It’s only a few days. And the rest is just until the magazine shoot, at which point you can go back to eating Cheetos and drinking beer or whatever your preferred form of empty calories is now.”
“Mom!” I bark. “If you don’t shut up right now, I’m hanging up and blocking your number. Then it won’t matter how many times you call, you won’t get through. And if you show up here to try to badger me in person, I’ll call the police and have you arrested for trespassing.”
She gasps. “Why you—”
“Ungrateful little brat,” we say in unison.
“Yes, I know. You’ve called me that every time I’ve tried to take a break. Every time I’ve taken any time off. I’m ungrateful and don’t know a thing about the industry and where would I be without you looking out for me and pushing me.”
