A Reason to Exist

Chapter 34

In the morning, I showered and washed my hair twice at Zuri's. I brushed my teeth for three minutes, drank a glass of milk, sprayed my body with Zuri's deodorant and my hair with leave-in conditioner, desperately trying to remove trace elements of nicotine and weed.

When I walked in the door at home, mum hardly noticed me. She was sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by folders of paperwork.

'How was Zuri's?' she asked, holding a stapled document.

'Good.'

'Have you had breakfast?'

'Yes.'

'Something substantial?'

It took all my effort not to groan.

Tate walked into the kitchen and put his hands on his hips. 'They're selling for $10,000 to $35,000,' he announced proudly. 'I looked up his website.'

'What?' I asked.

'Rex's paintings. That's how much they're selling for. Dad has a new exhibition.'

'Yeah, that's if they sell,' I said.

Why is my brother colluding with my mother? What's he got against dad? How come he needs to impress her by damning my father?

'Rex is horrible to dad,' I said. 'Dad deserves every dollar he gets for putting up with him.'

'You're forgetting, Macy, that we all had to put up with Rex. When your dad was working fifteen-hour days to install his exhibition, it was me who was doing everything at home. You two were just little. When your dad was driving around to pokie venues to stop him from gambling all his money or when Rex went on a bender, we didn't see your dad for days. It had an affect on all of us. Hell, it probably contributed to the divorce. Your dad was so highly strung about all of it. Remember that time we leant Rex $5000 and never got it back? That's all the money we had in our savings. I wasn't working back then. I kept telling your dad it wasn't worth it. He shouldn't have kept Rex on as an artist. But your dad chose to keep Rex at the expense of us all.'

This was rubbish. Mum was twisting the past. Tate was too young to remember, so he believed her bullshit.

'That's not true,' I said. 'Dad was trying his best. Rex was the only artist who made any decent money for him. He probably enabled us to buy this house we're living in.'

'Macy, you don't know anything,' mum said, lowering her voice. 'I know all these things, I was there. I lived the trauma.'

'Stop being such a victim. Get on with your life. Leave dad alone. Go on a date. Just do something,' I said. Mum repositioned the document on the table, took her glasses off and rubbed her nose. I wasn't finished. 'And leave Tate out of this. He's just a kid. He can't remember dad like I do. You're ruining their relationship. Dad might not be the husband you wanted but Tate should still have a father.'

Mum stood up from the chair. 'Don't you ever talk to me like that.' She pointed her forefinger at me. 'Do you understand? What have I done to deserve such a child? I've sacrificed everything for your wellbeing. My whole life is you.'

'That's the problem,' I said, softening. She's up at seven in the morning home-cooking our lunches when she could buy something off the shelf, ironing our uniforms when they'll just get creased, shining our shoes when they'll just get scuffed. She did all of this to appear like everything is perfect, but none of it was making her happy. 'All I'm saying is you should do things for yourself. Find things that give you joy.'

'You two give me joy,' she said.

'Yes, but find other things too.'

Tate walked over and put his arms around mum's waist and buried his face into her stomach. She ran her fingers through his hair and pulled his neck closer to her. She closed her eyes and I could see such a sadness on her face my heart misfired.

My eyes welled with tears. My mother is broken. All her anger is a stale crust hardened to protect her. Inside she is scared and frightened like the rest of us. She needs reassurance. She needs to know that we will always love her no matter what.

I took a step towards her. She opened her eyes.

'We love you mum,' I said. 'We just want you to be happy.'

Her lips opened, she nodded her head and her eyes filled with tears. I could see that she wanted happiness too, she just had no idea how to get there. Her road to happiness had been paved with anger. She'd been going round and round on a roundabout of resentment for years not knowing which exit to take. She was so insecure and so desperate for us to love her she'd felt like she needed to destroy our father. She wasn't strong and powerful, she was weak and unsure. She was the victim of her own insecurity. Anxiety threatened her wellbeing at every step.

I wanted to touch her like Tate does. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and melt into the warmth of her body. Yet estrangement insulated the air. She was suspicious of my allegiance to the throne. She had a hunch I had a new insight. She was stuck in her own cesspit of despair. She leant back. Tate released his arms from around her. The moment was over. Closeness was as far away as ever.

'Who wants a green smoothie?' she asked.

'Me,' Tate said.

'Sounds good,' I said.