There's one time I could say that I idolized my mother, thought she was the definition of perfection, until I learned that perfection doesn't exist.
Not even in her, which is ironic because she would try to prove that otherwise, knowing that she can't. But it still didn't stop me from dreaming, from trying to make a hero out of her, I mean, I needed someone to put my faith into.
I needed someone to teach me what to do when put out into the world, but little did I know that neither of my parents would be that role model. Instead, they would teach me a different lesson, one that I strongly remember from my childhood, which involved one of my favorite dishes.
The Lesson of Lobster and Steak.
It was clear that my mother didn't want children, but sometimes she made it painfully obvious why. It was often reflected in the way she regarded her own body and the way she looked at my father. To her, he represented the epitome of a mistake, a waste of time that made her life more difficult.
When he was gone, she always had to make up excuses as to where he went when there was company, and she always put on a smile even when he irritated her.
They made marriage seem like a transaction, like something that was there only to brag about, but not reasonable in the long run. Especially, not when they were alone together, it wasn't long before they stopped sharing the same room, and father was treated more like a decorative pet than a person.
He would drink more than my mother and wander like an undead corpse in the night, whining and complaining, making my mother want to plug her ears with corks. I would just watch, the arguing, of course, was common, I was both used to it and saddened by the fact that it was implanted in my mind.
Glad when it was over, but also expecting it to happen again when a glass broke, my father usually had a strong alcoholic odor that carried him, while it was milder in hers.
She would be the only one attending meetings and setting them up, along with reviewing sales and participating in wine tastings. Eventually, she only yelled when she needed to, developing a drunken-like statue look whenever someone needed her. Hell, she didn't even participate in conversation with her daughter unless she needed to tell me something.
I felt, at times, that when she looked at me, she saw a part of him and grew disgusted. She wasn't very affectionate toward me and largely had maids teach me what an heir was supposed to do. Not even my father talked to me very much, which I was thankful for. I believe, at times, he viewed me as her favorite puppet to control. He was probably upset because he lost that role long before I was born and blames me for it, for not taking his side or confronting my mother about how she treats him.
On the other hand, from what I saw, he was no walk in the park; he was more absent than present in my life and could probably count the birthdays he attended on one hand. Alcohol was truly his favorite child, and if he could, he'd probably advocate for it to be his heir over me. It's not like he was thrilled I was in his life; I believe he was only glad that he had done one thing my grandfather had asked of him. Knowing that, in every other aspect, he had disappointed his father, just as I did with him.
No matter how many books I read or mannerisms that I practiced, none of them brought a smile to his face. He was deadpan and never held my hand when I was scared or bothered to explain why he would leave so much.
To him, I was just a child who was over her head, too curious for my own good, and got in the way when he needed something. When I would cry he would tell me to suck it up and fake a smile to represent how I was supposed to be but he was never geuniely happy.
I think happiness faded way before I was born, and a somber atmosphere took over, and even when others started to notice, they always had a convenient response as to why.
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Buttered Lobsters and Medium-prepared Steaks (along with a rare) were brought out to the table with side dishes of garlic potatoes, asparagus, and some caviar for color.
I was between the ages of 7 and 12 when I watched my mother wine and dine the Bellums' parents, when my father was absent, probably away drinking.
This was a time when her energy was quickly depleted, but not her wit. I remember that she had gotten her steak rare and mostly poked at it. Letting the blood soak the plate as she quickly cut into the lobster and ate the buttered part of the tail.
"It is a nice evening out today, thank you again for the invitation, Regina." Madam Bellum stated as my mother threw her a mere glance, "Yes, it is, that's why I insisted you and your husband come dine tonight. There is a new wine I would like you to try out, and I'm sure it will be a grand addition to my winery."
Mr.Bellum raised a brow and cleared his throat, making my mother lick her teeth, "Something wrong, Bennett? I feel there's something you want to say."
"Why rare?"
"The steak? Just felt like trying something new."
"And, your husband?"
"He's out on important business matters, and before you ask, I deal mostly with the winery. So, I claim it as mine, but my husband tends to some business regarding that. Also, I figured you both wouldn't mind since this is a casual dinner, and you see me and my husband on most days that we meet. We don't stay the number one company by being glued to each other now, if that was the case, we might as well be like you two."
My mother winked, taking a bite of her steak and swallowing it, "If you don't change things up and finish business quickly, then you'll get behind. Falling behind is a sign of weakness, and weakness is a vulnerability; vulnerabilities get you caught in a mousetrap." She shrugs, "Simply put, mice can't get to the cheese if they're caught in a trap, do you understand?"
Mr.Bellum blinked back and gripped his utensils tightly, knowing that if he made a scene that it would cause bigger problems.
My mother had caught him in a trap herself by taking the conversation in an indirect attack, and that satisfied her enough to enjoy the rest of the night.
She knew then that I was watching, but didn't pay mind because she had a complex of herself, and I just fed it by being in awe of her triumph.
She plans things accordingly when things don't always go her way, and when in doubt, she always has a plan C.