Favourite Daughter. Kaira Rouda Sturdivant

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      I wait for Betsy in the kitchen, hoping for more mother-daughter time like we had last night. Sometimes I’m lucky and I catch her in the morning when she’s hungry or needs a water bottle to take to school. Most days, though, she exits through her bedroom door and rushes through the courtyard to her car before I even realize she’s gone, like her dad, the other mouse running from momma cat.

      I can’t blame her. She doesn’t think about me, or my needs. I remember acting the same way with my own mother when I was ten. It’s a selfish phase most girls go through, and Betsy and I are enjoying an extra long, extra trying phase. It balances the fact Mary and I never had one. Sure, we had our disagreements, but not the ongoing war of disappointment and misunderstanding that Betsy and I seem to be locked in.

      Last week, David walked into a huge fight between my daughter and me. It was after 11:00 p.m., far too late for Betsy to be out on a school night. I waited for her in a chair, outside in the dark, sacrificing my own comfort. I care about her and her curfews. When Betsy had finally walked into the courtyard, I had confronted her before she could sneak downstairs via the outdoor steps.

      “Stop right there.” I stood up. I scared her and that made me smile.

      “Oh my God,” Betsy yelled. “You would be out here like a freak. Leave me alone.”

      “You smell like smoke. Where have you been?”

      “I told Dad I had a bonfire tonight. You can’t keep treating me like I’m a child. I’m eighteen. Besides, if you had taken the time to have an actual conversation with Dad, he could have told you where I was.” Betsy backed away, heading toward the outside stairs, trying to escape to her room to get away from me, her mother: the person who gave birth to her, the person who gave her life.

      “Who were you with? I want to know your friends.” The fact was Betsy never brought her friends home. I knew all of Mary’s high school friends, for years, and they all seemed to like me. Some of the boys liked talking to me more than they did Mary. But with Betsy, I only knew Amy, from middle school. After Amy moved away, Betsy didn’t bring anyone else home, no matter how often I pushed to meet her “group.”

      Mary had told me when she was a senior, and Betsy was a junior, that Betsy was in a totally different crowd. Mom, we don’t overlap friends, not at all. I can’t really tell you more. That’s why I had to surprise her in the courtyard. I have to catch her when I can. She’s sneaky, my Betsy.

      Last week in the courtyard, Betsy wasn’t just sneaky, she was mean. Her voice was cold, firm. “Your snooping is freaking me out. You need to cool it. I’m going to bed—don’t follow me.”

      “Don’t you dare walk away from me, young lady!” I had yelled. Too loud. We’re all too close together here at The Cove. I can’t believe I raised my voice.

      David stepped through the door from the garage at that moment. Mortified by my outburst.

      “Jane, honestly. I heard you from inside the garage. What will the neighbors think?” He was mad at me, not worried about what Betsy had said or done. David still cares about the neighbors, still has friends in the neighborhood. Clients, too.

      Betsy saw her chance for an exit. “Welcome home, Dad. Good night.” She smiled as he walked to her side.

      “Good night, honey.” They hugged and she was gone.

      I am very tired of this treatment. Instead of backing me up, supporting my good parenting, David had walked past me into the house, leaving me alone in the courtyard staring up at the stars piercing through the night sky like laser beams. Just then one of the palm trees in our courtyard shed its hull, something that happens at least once a year. The heavy wooden canoe-shaped beast landed with a bang a foot away from where I’d been sitting. I could have died.

      But I’m a survivor. And I always win. Something Elizabeth will discover in ten minutes, the palm trees later this morning.

       4

      9:00 a.m.

      Elizabeth is late but I’m fine with it. Gave me time to settle in, grab the corner table at Starbucks, order a small black coffee. Why can I never remember what I’m supposed to say for small? And why can’t I just say small? As I sip my coffee I watch the line of well-dressed women and men, and wonder which one of them is happy. Who is cheating on their spouse? Who is living a lie?

      Have any of them given up a child for adoption and then pushed their way back into that child’s life? I mean, after the adoptive mother gave up everything and raised the girl as her own, cared for her, made her the woman she was, and then you swoop in for the easy part? For the glory? Who does that?

      Elizabeth does. And there she is now, pushing through the glass door with an air of importance, her long dark hair cascading down her shoulders. She’s wearing a white lab coat to enhance her doctor status and high heels. Sexy doctor status. Nice try, but you still have nothing on me. She spots me in the corner and I watch her lips purse. Is she nervous? I mean, when I visited her clinic in LA last year I didn’t really threaten her, although she seems to have taken it that way. Silly restraining orders. They don’t really do anything, do they?

      I should have taken one out on her. She is the one who didn’t listen, she’s the one who never backed off. She lured Mary to her with an internship. Unforgivable.

      She pulls the chair out across the table and sits, crossing her arms in front of her.

      “Don’t you want anything to drink?” I ask. I’m not getting her anything, and the line is ten deep, but I’m being pleasant. I tuck my blond hair behind my ear, making sure my huge diamond studs sparkle in the sunlight streaming in over my shoulder.

      “No. What do you want, Jane?” She folds her hands together on the table. Pity she’s never found a man. Maybe she isn’t interested in them, not that I care.

      “I want you to get in your car and drive back to LA. You aren’t welcome here.”

      Elizabeth smiles. “That’s funny. Mr. and Mrs. Harris invited me personally. You know I used to work for them. I’m part of the family in more ways than one.”

      “This ceremony is for me, her mother, and David, her father, to say goodbye to Mary in front of our friends. Not for you, some servant, a housekeeper who had random sex and didn’t want the results. You act like you’re family but you’re just the help. I’m family, do you understand? I was nice, before, when Mary found you. I had to be. I didn’t want to upset Mary. But now Mary is gone. You have no hold over me, nothing.”

      Elizabeth smiles, her face flushes. Good, she should be embarrassed, the slut. “You’ve never been nice to me, or to your daughter, from what I can tell. And you don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

      “Oh, really? I know David allowed our daughter Mary to contact you, and unfortunately, you responded even though you promised to never have contact with the baby you gave up.” I take a sip of my coffee but I continue to stare at my nemesis.

      “You’re still mad about that, aren’t you? As you know, Mary contacted me first. I did nothing wrong, and neither did Mary. It’s all just so small-minded of you.” She shakes her head at me like I’m a toddler about to be put in time-out.

      I’d like to wipe that smirk off her face, or throw my coffee at her. But I won’t. “No, I’m not mad. Just disappointed.”

      “You liked pretending Mary belonged only to you. But she was mine, too. I loved her. I just didn’t have the means to provide for her, not like David does.” Elizabeth sits back, takes a deep breath.

      My mind is pinging, facts merging together, swirling around like the time does these days. But there’s something. “You mean like David and I do. He is my husband.”

      “Yes, and Mary’s father, her biological father.”