~Eleanor~

The second Ben left me in front of my parents' house, I instantly felt lonely. Like he was leaving me in front of this impossible task that I had to do on my own. The box of Tim Horton's donuts Ben and I bought on our way over doesn't give me the push I hoped it would. I confronted my mother many times over the years, but never with the goal to reconcile with her. I always put the things I didn't like about our relationship in her face to try and hurt her, but, now, I want her to understand me. I want her to know why I feel this way about her, and this is new to me. Ben and I did this to mend our relationship and it worked, so why wouldn't it with my mother?

I ring the doorbell once and wait for my father to come open the door because my mother never opens the door if someone else can do it for her. "I'm too busy with work, (insert a family member's name). Go open the door." My hands are shaking, I think I am more nervous than when Ben and I came over to announce the pregnancy. I was excited back then because I knew my father would be happy. I didn't care about my mother's reaction as long as my father was as excited as me. Today, I have no idea how either of them will react to what I have to say, and it stresses me out.

"Ella, honey, come in, darling. You know you don't have to ring the doorbell. Your mother is in the kitchen. I kept her from locking herself in her office for the past twenty minutes, so you owe me a donut." I hand him the box that he opens to grab a Boston Cream that he engulfs in his mouth.

"Steph, Ella's here," he announces when we step into the kitchen. My father's tone went cold when he said my mother's name. I wonder if they had a fight of their own. Every trace of last night's Christmas party is gone. No more twinkle lights on the walls, no more garlands above the windows, no more trees, and no more fake fir branches on the kitchen table. Christmas is over and the decorations left as soon as it did. It always saddened me to wake up the day after Christmas to find the house looking normal again. I wanted to keep the spirit alive longer than only for a day.

"Hey, mom," I casually say as I raise my hand in the air to wave at her. She raises her head from the stack of paper in front of her to look at me.

"Good afternoon, Eleanor." And she lowers her eyes again. That's it?

"Steph, Eleanor is here to work things out with us. Could you please stop working for one goddamn minute?" My father didn't raise his voice. In fact, I don't think I ever heard my father raise his voice. But his annoyance was palpable. The air thickened and lowered our oxygen levels, making it hard to breathe. My mother looks back up at us and pushes her papers away from her.

"What do you want to talk about Eleanor?" I sit next to her on the kitchen bar and take a deep breath.

"I want to talk about what happened last night. No, scratch that, I want to talk about what led me to react that way last night." My father grabs my hand under the counter before giving me a warm smile that gives me the courage to start talking. "For the past few years, I always felt like you weren't interested in me. Since you got your promotion at work, I felt like you cared less about me, as if all that mattered to you was your work and how we looked in public. I needed to look a certain way, act a specific way to be worthy of your attention." My mother looks horrified, not because she realized what repercussions her actions had on me, but because I dared to talk to her that way.

"I only want what's best for my children, Eleanor. How dare you say I don't care about you? Did you ever need anything that we didn't get you?"

"Yes, mom, I did. I needed you. I needed you to help me with my homework, I wanted to go shopping with you, talk about my friends and about boys with you. I wanted you to help me when I had problems with Ben, but we never had the connection that led me to believe I could come to you." Her eyes are still wide, but she makes no move to try and comfort me when my voice breaks at the end of my sentence. My father's hand is still holding mine as he rubs circles on my palm.

"I had to work! How else would you have been able to have everything else? All your clothes, your new phone and new laptop every year, your tuition!" Her voice is raising as if I was stupid for not understanding this.

"I didn't need everything else, mom! I didn't want a new phone every year or a brand-new laptop when the one I had worked perfectly fine. I would have traded my new wardrobe every season for a shopping trip with you once a year or even for you to come to our Tim Horton's dates with dad on Saturdays. But you had to work." Tears are flowing down my cheeks now. For a few seconds, my mother is speechless until she finds another thing to attack me on.

"You weren't even here half the time! You were out with Ben or with Olive. And when you were here, you were locked in your room with one of them. Then you moved to Ontario and to New York!"

"That's not the point, mom! I was done with having to be perfect all the time, I was done feeling like Ben wasn't enough for you because he didn't have the same aspirations as you. You never accepted him, mom, and don't lie to me."

"Yes, we thought you could do better, but we were wrong."

"You're only saying that cause he's rich and famous now! You want to be affiliated with him because he can give you exposure not because you like him as a person."

"That's it, Eleanor. I am a horrible person who only thinks about herself. I killed myself at work for the past fifteen years to give you this life. You're the one who backed away from it when you chose him. I always gave you everything I could, and you still found ways to be unhappy. When we found out you were pregnant, we offered to move in with you, but you refused because you wanted to stay in Windsor or whatever town you lived in. You don't want to be around us, Eleanor." The part when she says that she always gave me everything she could sticks in my head. What if she did? What if my mother doesn't have the maternal instinct I needed her to have?

"I'm sorry, mom. I know you did your best. But, please, understand why it might not have been enough for me. I never understood why you kept choosing work over Will and me." I changed my tone. I am not angry anymore, I'm upset. I think I've always been upset with her. My mother seems surprised by my apology; she opens her mouth a few times, but nothing comes out.

"I never thought I chose work over the two of you. I only wanted what was best for you, and that was what I needed to do to give you that." She stopped screaming too. Her eyes go from my father, who only nods, to me.

"Mom, you didn't fly over after Ophelia was born, you didn't take time off to come to her birthday when dad and Will did. You always say you have to work. I'm sure you didn't even read my book. I know I told you about Ophelia's allergy but all you talked about was that project you were working on for your magazine. All you ever talk about is work." I keep my voice as soft as I can to not start another argument. I am done screaming.

"I know, I...I am sorry. If you ever move back here, I'll make an effort to be more present. Tell Ben I am sorry, ok? And I am sorry, Tom, about last night." My father extends his free hand across the counter to grab my mother's. I am well aware that everything isn't settled, but we came a long way, and it's enough for today.

Around five pm, I text Ben to ask him to pick me up. He answers immediately but asks if we can have another night just the two of us. At first, I wanted to tell him no, that we had to pick up Ophelia tonight, but then I remembered our time in the shower. We always used to shower together before Ophelia came along. With the intention of taking another one tonight, I answer him a simple: "Of course."