Mommysgirl

For the first time in years, she ate a slice without waiting for someone to tell her it was wrong.

The room was her childhood home, two thousand miles away, where her mother, Carol, now sat alone in a floral nightgown, the remote control falling asleep in her hand. mommysgirl

The splinter had been inserted slowly, over years. When Lena was seven, Carol had cut the crusts off her sandwiches because “friends will laugh at a girl with messy food.” At twelve, Carol had returned a pair of jeans Lena loved because “only girls without fathers wear those.” At sixteen, when Lena got the lead in the school play, Carol had sat in the front row, then critiqued her enunciation all the way home. “I’m just being honest,” she’d say, dabbing Lena’s tears with a tissue. “Honesty is love.” For the first time in years, she ate

The turning point came on a Tuesday. Lena was laid off from her marketing job. Her first instinct wasn’t to update her resume. It was to call Carol. And then, a split second later, to hide the phone under a pillow. Because she knew exactly what Carol would say: “I told you that job wasn’t stable. You never listen to me. Come home. I’ll take care of you.” When Lena was seven, Carol had cut the