Condemn Me Not (6 page)

Mitchell
nailed her with a disparaging look.  “It’s a growing industry, Simone.  They
might have a chance.”

“Chance
in hell,” she said, her anger fueled by Mitchell’s lackadaisical attitude. 
“It’s foolhardy and I think you should talk with her.”

“What
am I going to say that you haven’t already?”

“Nothing.” 
Glass in hand, Simone tucked her arms into a cross over her chest.  “But she’ll
listen to you.  With me, she turns rebellious—she has to do the opposite of
whatever I want her to do—which is what’s best for her.  Yet to you, she’ll
listen.”

“C’mon
Simone, that’s not true.”  Mitchell shook the shiny steel pan, dispersing the
heating oil to evenly coat the bottom and sides.  “She looks up to you.  You’re
her role model.”

Then
why did she invoke her father’s name in the heat of every battle
?  Without fail Mariah
ran to Daddy in hope of turning him to her side and
against
her mother. 
Mariah’s tactics hurt more than Simone wanted to admit.  It wasn’t fair that a child
pitted parent against parent, especially when she worked so hard to be there
for her daughter, to be strong and loving, to help guide her as she matured
into a responsible adult.

But
who continually received the praise?  Mitchell. 
Your husband cooks?  Oh how
lucky you are!  It’s sweet how your husband shares an after dinner stroll with
your daughter.  That’s real quality time between parent and child
.

Simone
hated the injustice of perception.  Mitchell cooked because she worked late,
had clients to entertain, meetings to attend—not to mention it was more a stress-reliever
for him than chore.  And who did they think was doing the dishes while Mitchell
and Mariah were out roaming the neighborhood on their leisurely quality time
stroll?

She
was.  She was the silent partner who kept the family functioning, but no one
cared to give her credit.  She crammed more into a twenty-four hour period than
most people could manage in twelve.  From pumping milk in the office restroom
to working through lunch, dodging traffic in last minute scrambles to make
school performances, only to be followed by midnight report writing—when the
house was quiet and she couldn’t sleep anyway.  No one had a clue how hard she
worked.  Men got an “atta boy” when they spent time at the office
and
when they spent time with their kids, but women?

They
were neglecting their husband and children if they weren’t home in time to put
a hot meal on the table for dinner.  They were an uncaring
witch
of a
woman if they didn’t sit idly by and watch their child ride a bike up and down
the street when they had a dinner presentation to give visiting financiers, the
ones that could make or break her career.  Forget the untold hours spent crib
side, watching her baby sleep, checking to be sure Mariah was breathing,
worrying that she’d have all she needed in life, all she needed to be happy and
whole.  And did anyone thank her for the surprise batch of cupcakes she dropped
off at the elementary school in between meetings so the entire class could
celebrate her child’s birthday?  No one gave her the first heed.

Simone
constantly felt pulled between the obligations of work and home with no time to
just “be.”  She always felt the need to be involved, worked to be involved, yet
never felt valued for the same.

Mitchell
added garlic to the oil and briskly shook the pan and its sizzling contents.  The
rich, pungent scent of garlic quickly saturated the air around her.  “Well, if
she looks up to me, why isn’t she listening to what I have to say?”

“She
is.”

“She
has a funny way of showing it.”

“Because
you two are just alike and she’s equally as hard-headed.”

Simone
glared.

“Strong-willed.” 
With his free hand, Mitchell took a sip from his wine.  “Is that better?” he
asked with a smile.

“Don’t
patronize me.”

“I’m
not, honey.”  Mitchell’s posture softened.  He removed the pan from the heat
and his tone grew tender.  “All I’m trying to say is, she’s tough and strong
and is old enough to make these decisions for herself.”

“Are
you kidding me?”  Simone pushed off from the counter, blood pumping through her
skull like a sledgehammer.  “She’s a child!  Acting like one, too.  Mariah’s only
doing this to spite us.  This is about that car, I tell you.”  Simone set the
wineglass down with a hard clink.  “Logan put her up to this, I guarantee it!”

He
shook his head.  “Logan went out and bought his own car.”

“That
belongs in a junk yard.”

“Have
you ever thought it might actually be what she wants to do?  You’ve heard her
talk about going green in the past.  She’s a conservation fanatic.”

If
Simone had to hear one more time how many trees it took to manufacture a roll
of toilet paper, she was going to scream.  She shook her head.  “This is
Logan’s doing.”

Mitchell
shrugged, taking an absent sip of wine.  “And what if it is?  She’s almost
eighteen.  In a few months she won’t have to listen to anything we say.”

“If
she wants our support, she will.  Speaking of trees, money doesn’t grow on
them.  It doesn’t magically fall out of the sky.”  How many times had Simone suffered
through that little lecture?  Her father repeatedly instilled the value of hard
work and patient determination, and she’d listened.  It took a plan and
perseverance to earn your way in life.  “How does Mariah expect to earn a
living without an education?”

“Not
everyone goes to college,” he reminded her quietly.  “There are plenty of
success stories out there of people who never set the first foot on a campus.”

“This,
coming from the man with an addiction to online legal courses?”

He
laughed and raised his glass to her.  “What can I say, I love the law.”  He
sipped from his wine, then using his wooden spatula, brushed onions from
cutting board into the pan, the spit and pop immediate as he mixed them about. 
“Should have been a lawyer.  It would have been fun.  But my life didn’t work
out that way.”  He turned to her.  “And I didn’t need a degree to start my
business.”

“No. 
You lucked out.”

“Luck
is where preparedness meets opportunity.”

“Mitchell.”

“Simone.”

The
issue was an old one, but it retained the power to stand between them.  She
groaned and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling stainless steel refrigerator. 
Opening one of the lower built-in drawers, she rummaged through plastic-wrapped
containers.

“I
saw an opportunity and jumped on it.  That’s how real life works, Simone. 
People seize opportunity and the timing works itself out.”

If
only she could believe him.  If only a small part of her thought this situation
was good for Mariah.

“With
or without us,” he added, “she’ll do all right.”

With
or without us
? 
Or with or without
you
.  Locating the package of fresh mozzarella,
Simone pulled it free.  Mariah didn’t care what her mother thought.  Only her
father’s opinion held weight.

Returning
to the island counter, Simone set the cheese down beside the bottle of balsamic
glaze.  Mitchell placed his wooden spoon on its glossy ceramic cradle and turned
down the heat, before capturing her gaze for a long, intimate moment.  The
aroma of sautéed onions and garlic rose between them, husband and wife hugging
close to opposite corners.

“I
made mistakes and I’m still standing,” Mitchell said.

Simone
didn’t miss the undercurrent in his tone.  When he lost his first fortune,
she’d been beside herself.  How could he let that happen?  How could he
leverage himself to the point of vulnerability, living one stroke away from
bankruptcy?  It was a poor decision on his part that cost them
both
dearly.  At the time, her salary had barely covered the bills.

Mitchell’s
expression mellowed to one of contemplation.  “We’re fine now.”

Thanks
to me
,
she mused bitterly.  Simone swallowed old resentments.  “I don’t want Mariah to
have to learn things the hard way.  I want her to do things the smart way.”

“We
made it through and so will she—however she chooses to get there.”

And
where she expected to detect animosity, Simone did not.  Mitchell didn’t have a
malicious thought in his head.  He moved with the flow of life.  He enjoyed the
highs and he endured the lows, but he never complained.  Or rarely.  Bankruptcy
had not sat well with him, but he took it for what it was worth—a lesson.  When
experience meets money, you could be sure that by the end of the engagement,
experience would walk away with the money, while the money-man would walk away
with experience to show for his time.  But little else, she mused sourly.  It
had been their first major fight.

“She
must take after you, then,” Simone snipped, “because there was never a day I
didn’t want to go to college.  There was never a day I thought forging ahead
without a plan was a good idea.  Never.  I knew the direction I wanted to go
right from the beginning and that’s where I went.”

Mitchell
smiled, warmth opening his features into a loving gaze.  He came to her and
pulled her into his arms, whispering, “Yes.  And it’s one of the things I love
about you.”

“Mariah
doesn’t.”

“Yes
she does.  She just doesn’t show it.  Trust me.  She looks up to you.  She
knows she’s a lot like you and she wants you to recognize the same.”

“What
are you talking about?”  Simone stiffened within his grasp.  “That may be what
she she’s telling
you
, but I got a lecture about how I was never there
for her, only
Daddy
was.  How I’m the big bad monster parent and you’re
the sweet kind one.”  Which is a load of bull, she wanted to add, but doing so
would only hurt her cause.

Mitchell
chuckled.  He kissed her cheek with a soft scratch of his beard and returned to
his sauté pan.  “And you believed that?  You know she didn’t mean it.  She’s
only trying to hurt you, because you didn’t jump on her bandwagon right away.”

“Like
you did?”

“Not
me, Mrs. Sheridan.”  He pointed his wooden spoon at her in mock alarm. 
“Absolutely not.  I grilled her, demanded explanation from head to toe.” 
Mitchell’s voice softened.  “But it’s not my approval she wants.  It’s yours.”

Or
Claire’s. 
Rebecca’s mom is proud of me
. 
Why can’t you be
?

As
though it were a competition.  As though she had to work for her daughter’s
love.  Simone reached for her glass and pursed her lips against the rim.

But
she didn’t.  She didn’t need to compete for her daughter’s affection with
anyone, especially Claire.  While she was out working, setting a good example
for Mariah to emulate, Claire was home feeding her cookies and listening to her
vent.  She was making the girl feel as though every thought in her brain was a
good one.  Hostility stirred emotions in her gut.  It was the gibberish of
daytime television, where everyone claimed you had to elevate a child’s
self-esteem, give them your ear and encourage their desire.

Really
?  Last time she
checked, Mariah wasn’t lacking in the self-esteem department.  She was lacking
in the
respect
department.  Blunt honesty and objectivity would serve
her daughter better than the overindulgent flutter of a mother hen every day of
the week.  Simone shook her head, frustration warring with disappointment.  “I
doubt she cares one iota what I think.  And tell me—where did I go wrong
Mitchell?  Can you explain that?  Since when is setting a good example for my
daughter a bad thing?”

Mitchell
removed the pan from the burner.  “It’s not.”

“Is
it the expectation?”

Mitchell
shook his head.  “I think you’re missing the point.”

“Am
I?”  Simone was sick and tired of everyone trying to evade the issue—the heart
of the issue, the meat of it.  “What’s the
point,
if it’s not to raise a
child so that she can become an educated adult?  A woman who can play by her
own rules and not be dependent on someone else for what she wants in life. 
There’s so much opportunity out there, why waste it?  Why not get her degree
and then start her business?”  Frustration bit into her.  “I don’t get it.”

“Impetuous
youth?” he offered with a meager shrug.

Simone
found the response pathetic.  “Impatience,” she countered.  “Mariah’s impatient
and immature and doesn’t understand what she’s giving up—that’s her problem. 
And encouraging her isn’t helping her.  It’s hurting.”

“I’m
willing to bet on Mariah.”  He paused.  “Aren’t you?”

The
question stung.

“Isn’t
there the least little part of you that believes she can do it?” Mitchell
continued.  “I mean, I don’t care for Logan all that much, but it sounds like
they’ve lined some businesses up, like they’ve put some thought into it.  I’m
at least willing to give them a chance.”

Simone
recoiled from mention of Logan.  She didn’t care for the boy or the fact that
her daughter was following him like a puppy to a treat.  It irritated her to
think that Mariah would succumb so easily to looks and sweet talk, do anything Logan
told her to do because she was infatuated with him.  What if he decided she
should get pregnant and insist she stay home? 
Would she do it
?