SS43:
"Mother And Child Communion"
*****
This story's working title was "The Lyin,' The Snitch And The Wardrobe." It went through another clumsy, unwieldy title, then the one I finally settled on: a play on this old Paul Simon song. This was another first for me; I've written a few stories about mother-daughter relationship dynamic, in the areas of discipline and punishment (on both ends: "Redefining Punishment," "Step-Mommie Dearest," the fantasy scene in "Costly Confusion"). And yet this is my very first one that'll officially belong to the Incest category. And so I tried to handle this debut foray delicately, and put some real heart and love into it.
*****
Tuesday, January 6th, 2015, 8:24 a.m.
A gentle snowfall blanketed the city, at an only slightly higher concentration on the north end of town than the south. Citizens proceeded about the business of a first Tuesday after ringing in the new year. The sun fought way through a cloudy sky to brighten things up. There wasn't much change among the occupants of the 700-block of Sullivan Avenue, especially at corner-nearing 727. And that was precisely the source of conflict this morning.
Vivian Emmy Hughes sighed in frustration.
Alone at home, she was soon to serve her regular 9:00 to 5:00 shift at the office of First Parties. And while sitting at a computer—her technology skills outmatching her social skills—proved hardly demanding, the least her superiors asked was that she appear work-presentable. An undeniably reasonable request. The only
problem
was that as she searched her closet for a semi-suitable outfit, she once again came to an exasperating realization. Before having departed to kick-start her own day, Vivian's 18-year-old daughter, Rebecca Heidi Hughes, had taken the liberty of "borrowing" her clothes.
And not for the first time; far from it. In fact, Vivian'd just about had it. Now grown, her daughter had blossomed to Vivian's size, and this pattern had developed fairly recently. It happened every couple of days or so, as if Rebecca figured that if she helped herself to her Mom's wardrobe
every
day, she'd easily notice. Apparently Vivian wasn't given credit to notice it only every
other
day.
It was not that Becky liked to look like her mother by wearing her things that bothered Vivian. It would actually be flattering, were she granted the privilege to know beforehand. It was that she was to always find out on her own, as Rebecca never asked, or gave her so much as a heads-up prior to ransacking her closet. What Becky didn't seem to grasp was that had she simply
asked
, Vivian would be more than happy to share. It would bring back fond memories of Becky's childhood when she and Vivian used to play dress-up. During these formative years, most kids steered their folks toward Toys 'Я' Us or Candy World while out together; Rebecca Hughes grabbed her Mom's hand and dragged her along whenever a GapKids swam into view. Most children were disenchanted with clothing as Christmas or birthday gifts; Becky was pretty-pleased.
The appreciation for smart threads was certainly played into by genetics. Vivian'd always had a keen eye for fashion, as now too did her daughter. And each time Vivian noticed missing apparel in her closet, she was prompted to consider the compliment. That her little girl wanted to be like her Mom, dressed for success. It was only the juxtaposition of wanting her mother's clothing and taking it without asking that consternated Vivian. She had to suppose the fact that the girl was still a teenager had something to do with it. Becky perched on the brink of graduating high school, soon after getting on with her own life. For Vivian, the daughter leaving the nest and striking out on her own was both happy and sad news. And while the bad—no longer having her in her widowed, empty house—outweighed the good, Vivian still felt the need to have a talk with her about this.
At the same time...when Vivian considered the inevitability of her baby flying the coop, cutting herself free from the apron strings...she naturally became sad and wistful. When she imagined this scenario playing out in reality, she almost wept, missing her already. If only there were a way to... to
really
strengthen and solidify their bond, the layers of love in their relationship. So Vivian could be secure in the knowledge that her daughter'd genuinely miss her too.
Becky had turned eighteen in October. She attended high school and worked part-time in a department store in the mall. Smart, responsible, performing competently in both arenas...Vivian was exceedingly proud of her. And her mother realized that as an adult who also needed to show presentably each day, Rebecca needed decent clothing.
But...
why
ever, then, Vivian had to wonder, with a job that took place in a department store, of all locales—where a young woman could easily accessorize her entire closet—should Rebecca feel the need to borrow-slash-steal a chunk of her Mom's?
Yes, thought Vivian, as she finally got together an outfit and adjourned to the office. A little eye-opening chat about this when they both got back home was certainly in order. She tried not to let it overwhelm her. For most of her life, she felt she was not taken seriously when attempting to assert and stand up for herself. She felt discouraged from speaking her mind, and more dominant individuals tended to steamroll over her. It was going to be a tough evening and conversation, but she knew her daughter. Such a behavioral pattern, going on this way a good couple of weeks now, wouldn't stop on its own.
Perhaps most frustrating was that for most of her life, Rebecca had been an
angel
. She was always good growing up, avoiding the big mistakes, learning from the small ones. Becky's Dad had died along the way, leaving her half-orphaned. She remained the most valuable treasure in her mother's life. Part of Vivian wished Becky never had to grow up and could just be her little princess forever.
Sadly, her daughter was not Peter Pan. And while she kept diligence and self-responsibility, her teens turned her sweet nature into rebellion, obstinacy and defiance. Rebecca wasn't usually
too
hard on Vivian, being her daughter and living in her home. But Vivian'd be first to attest that Becky didn't get this adolescence from her. Vivian was always daunted by confrontation. And when her daughter did give her attitude, Vivian tended to let it go. But this newest display of disrespect, taking her clothes without permission and not even expecting her to notice?... This wasn't so easy to forgive.
It wasn't going to be an easy conversation. But it
was
going to happen.
*****
Tuesday, January 6th, 2015, 6:18 p.m.
After a couple of hours at work following school, Becky returned home, shivering and stamping her boots. Sitting in the living room, Vivian was waiting for her. On this day she'd apparently supplied her daughter's
entire
outfit, except for Becky's own light blue top.
"Hello there, honey."
Becky rolled her eyes at the endearment-tinted pet name. Her mother'd held on to these saccharine nicknames to call her since she was little. It was quite simple in Vivian's mind and proverbial book: she wanted to keep remnants of the relationship she had with her at a younger, less complicated age. Obviously, she loved the girl no matter what age she was. But Vivian couldn't help but admit she missed her idealistic young single-digit angel. Even if she made it to a century old, she'd still be Vivian Hughes' little girl.
"Ma," Rebecca uttered, a more or less obligatory response, whipping off her—Vivian's—coat. She then yanked the twisty out of her hair and tousled it into glorious spontaneity. She was an extraordinarily
beautiful
young woman, with golden hair that marvelously cascaded her face and shoulders. Her green eyes glowed even in the absence of light, and Vivian's ensemble snugly embraced her statuesque frame. Vivian felt it a shame that a girl as lovely as her little Becky now lacked certain values of common decency towards others. She barely even said hello back to her mother.
Rebecca pulled off her boots, and Vivian patted the seat beside her. A mystery item to be used under more drastic circumstances sat behind her, where her daughter couldn't see it.
"Becky, dear? C'mon over here and sit down, please."
Becky eyed her disinterestedly.
"What's up?"
Her mother indicated the chair once more. "I wanna talk to you."
Her daughter visibly once more rolled her eyes.
"
Ho
boy...no good conversation ever started with that sentence."
Vivian upped her sternness factor and pointed to the seat with one long-nailed index finger. She tilted her head downwards to throw some authority into her posture. Becky could see she hadn't much choice. Reluctantly, she blew out her breath and plopped down, propping her cheek on one apathetic elbow. Vivian took her daughter's unoccupied hand in both her own.
"All right, sweetie..." she began.
Becky reflexively winced. It was so embarrassing to have every single chat with her mother start like this.
For god's sake, does she have to hold my hand and call me "sweetie"? What the hell am I, nine?
Vivian'd taken forehanded liberty to adorn the tabletop with a bottle of wine and two glasses, in an effort to win Becky's confidence. Actually, Vivian had already downed her first glass, to help ease into this and knock the edge off. She took one hand off Becky's and poured them both a spot. Rebecca did appreciate this, figuring she could use some alcohol. Vivian regarded her, starting on her own second glass, and lowered her voice to what passed for strictness.
"Here's the deal, Becky: I know what's been going on. I know that you've been taking my clothes to wear yourself. Now, please understand: it does not bother me that you wanna wear my stuff, it really doesn't. Because I realize you're very responsible about the clothes you put on your body, and that you launder everything carefully."
Becky forced a nod, her countenance altering very little as she sipped. Her Mom tried to select her words with caution and tact.
"Now, you see, honey..."
Another eye roll.
"...What
