Mom knows the best
VIOLET
I curled up on my bed, textbooks opened and notes spread around me, my laptop humming softly as I worked through the final touches on an essay. The door to my room swung open with a force that made me jump, and I looked up to see my mom standing there, a piece of paper clenched tightly in her hand, her expression a storm of barely contained fury.
“Violet,” she began, her voice sharp enough to make me realize something was wrong. “What is this?”
I blinked, glancing at the paper in her hand. It took a second for my brain to catch up, but then I recognized the university logo on the page—one that made my stomach twist. She’d found it. The email I’d printed as a reminder to myself, something I’d tucked away to keep track of my college applications. I hadn’t exactly planned to tell her where else I’d applied, not until I had some answers, but I hadn’t expected her to stumble upon it, either.
“It’s… an application confirmation,” I managed, trying to keep my voice steady as I sat up straighter. “For college.”
“A college?” She scoffed, narrowing her eyes at the page like it was something unpleasant. “You’re telling me you applied to… UC Berkeley?”.
My stomach knotted as I realized how much worse this conversation was about to get.
“It’s not just any school, Mom. Berkeley has one of the best programs for my major. And I wanted options—something less high-pressure, in case things don’t go the way I want with Yale.”
Her eyes flashed with disbelief. “You can't be for real” She glanced at the letter like it was a curse, like I’d just committed the ultimate betrayal. “After everything I’ve done to get you into the right schools, the right programs—why throw it all away? By applying to a school that anyone can get into?”
“Anyone can get into?” I repeated, struggling to keep my voice calm. “You’re acting like it’s some no-name school, but Berkeley’s ranked really high in my field! And I don’t know why it’s such a crime to have a backup. I don’t want my whole life mapped out in advance just because it fits some perfect image you have.”
Her face hardened, and the disappointment in her gaze felt like a slap. “Violet, do you realize how ungrateful this is? You’re throwing away the opportunities I’ve sacrificed for. It’s insulting. It’s like you don’t care about success at all.”
“No, it’s like I don’t care about your version of success!” The words burst out of me, hot and sharp. “I care about my future, but I’m allowed to want it to look different than what you’ve planned. I can’t spend my whole life living up to some fantasy you’ve built!”
She shook her head, a look of cold finality settling on her face. “This isn’t a fantasy, Violet. This is reality. And in the real world, people fight for spots at Ivy League universities like Yale. They don’t waste their time on second-rate schools like Berkeley.”
Anger bubbled up in my chest, and I crossed my arms tightly over myself, struggling to keep my voice steady. “Maybe it’s a waste to you, but it’s not to me. That’s not fair, Mom. You are acting like anyone who doesn’t follow this perfect plan you’ve laid out is a failure. You don’t care about what I want, do you? It’s always about what you want.”
Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought she might actually listen. But then, just as quickly, her expression hardened. What I want is for you to succeed, Violet. And success isn’t something you find by settling. I don’t appreciate you doing this,” she snapped.
“And I don’t appreciate you always complaining about everything I do!” The words burst out of me, louder than I intended, but I couldn’t hold back any longer. “I’m so tired, Mom. Tired of feeling like nothing I do is ever enough, like I’m just a disappointment waiting to happen. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for not being the perfectionist you want me to be. For not being the daughter you want."
The words kept pouring out, years of frustration and hurt spilling over. "I’m sorry for not meeting all your expectations, for choosing to wear clothes that make me feel comfortable instead of the ‘feminine’ ones you keep pushing on me. I’m sorry I don’t fit into your perfect little mold”
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, finally trickling down my cheeks “I feel like I’m always walking on eggshells, like I have to be someone else just to make you happy. But what about what I want, Mom? Why isn’t that ever good enough?”
“Violet… I…” She started, her voice hesitant for the first time.
I didn’t let her finish. With a quick turn, I bolted from the room, ignoring her voice calling after me as I fled down the hallway. The tears flowed freely now, hot and unchecked, spilling over years of frustration
I wiped the tears off my cheeks as I stumbled down the stairs.
"Violet."
I heard Ryan's voice called after me
But I didn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I couldn’t let him, or anyone, see the mess I was.
“Not now,” I muttered, barely loud enough for him to hear, and bolted out the door, running to God knows where.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t keep pretending that I was okay with her forcing things on me, molding me into someone I wasn’t. A wave of guilt twisted in my chest, wondering if I’d been too harsh. But then again, would it even matter? She never seemed to understand.
I ran until my legs ache and my breath came in sharp gasps. Eventually, I found myself at the edge of a quiet secluded park. My feet carried me to an old bench tucked beneath a towering oak tree, its branches sheltering me from the world.
I buried my face in my hands, letting the tears flow freely.
The sobbing eventually slowed, replaced by a deep, steady breath. A familiar scent wafted toward me, and before I could look up, I felt the presence beside me. Ryan.
I turned, blinking away the remnants of tears. There he was, holding two ice cream cones. He sat down next to me, offering me one of the cones.
“I didn’t know you were much of a runner, Violet”
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