“Please try to persuade him to come, for my sake”, pleads my mother.

“Do you really think Hrishi will set his foot where the presence of your wonderful husband is guaranteed?” I asked incredulously.

“This is your father we’re talking about!!”, she cries.

“Sperm donor, you mean?”, my voice hardening. “Nothing this man has done or said in our entire lives screams ‘father of the year’. He has always complained about how we have ruined his life; about how expensive we are, we were just a financial burden!! And, moreover, do you really think that we are willing to be in the same room as him, let alone exchange words of any kind, after what happened two years ago?”

“He says he’s willing to forgive and forget?”, she informs me.

“Forgive and forget?”, I scoff. Forgive and forget what exactly, mother dear??? What is it about our actions that he has to ‘forgive and forget’??”

“You all started it!! We were having a good time. With the baby’s birth and us being together during the initial lock down, we were happy altogether”.

“Are you delusional?!” I exclaimed. “Did you suffer from any kind of head trauma in the couple of months since I last saw you?? He was absolutely out of control!! He slammed the door shut on your son’s hand! Just because he dared to question him about scheduling home repairs after we came home from the hospital!! What does that tell you?!”

She didn’t say anything. I should have known. I shouldn’t have been surprised. My mother, the Queen forgive and forget, but only when it suited her the best. How could I have ever believed that she would ever start supporting her own kids and not that monster wearing human skin!! Ugh! I was so done with this conversation; anymore, and I knew I would need a couple of shots of tequila or a whole bottle of wine. Since I was still breastfeeding my baby, that option was moot.

“You know what, I am done! Done! You can continue your wifely duties, just leave me out of your drama. I neither have the time nor the inclination to be involved in this farce.”

“Farce? How can me talking about getting your brother back to the family be called a farce?! You’re so selfish!! How can you not understand how much I am suffering?” she moaned.

“You’re suffering? How? He beat you? Raise his hand? His voice? No, that was reserved for us; you? he just commands and you scurry around obeying his every command without uttering a sound in protest. And then you take out your frustrations on me. Not even your son, but me. Well, I am done being your punching bag. Call me when you come back to your senses. Or don’t, either way I don’t care!”

I cut the call. Hung up my phone, delicately, with an eye on my husband who was rocking our son. At his nod of reassurance, I walked away quietly, found a pillow and screamed into it till I found a semblance of control.

I knew this wouldn’t be the last time she would put me through this. So, I would spend the time till the next call, finding the strength to shore up my defenses against her thoughtless words, actions and efforts. I would find the strength; I couldn’t do anything less. For my husband, for our son, I would face whatever was thrown in my path; I would fight my demons, all day, every day, till the next time. I will fight! I would fight!