Mom, we need to talk 2

[Foxy Lady]

Mother and daughter were sat opposite each other at the kitchen.



Rather had already had his breakfast and left for work.



Daughter had finished her toast and was sipping her coffee.



Mother was sipping hers. Waiting. She sensed a reason for the silence. This wasn't normal. So she waited.



'Mom, how are things between you and dad?'



'Good, why do you ask?'



'I just wondered, that's all.'



Just wondering? Her daughter never just wondered.



'They're good, as I said. In fact, I'd say they had never been better.'



Another silence. Her daughter wasn't finished yet, though.



'I'm an adult now, mom. Not a child any more. You can talk to me if you need to.'



'I know you're not a child any longer. I stopped thinking about you like that a long time ago. We both did, me and your father.'



'Sometimes we,' she had to mean adults, 'don't want to admit, even to ourselves, that we have a problem.'



She sounded so worldly wise, her mother had to suppress a smile. It was almost as if their roles were reversed.



'And sometimes it is best just to come out with something you have to say. Something is bothering you. What is it?'



A long pause. A deep breath. This was it.



'I mean,' still that final hesitation, 'dad doesn't hurt you, does he?'



Then the penny dropped.

 

[Foxy Lady]

"I'm sorry. You dad and I have gotten used to having the house to ourselves since you went to uni. We'll have to be more careful in future."



"Come on, mum. That wasn't just bedroom noises last night. I heard plenty of those when I was growing up. You and dad weren't as quiet as you thought."



Her mother blushed at the thought of what her daughter might have heard.



"Well, that is just what you heard last night, bedroom noises as you so quaintly call them."



"No, mom, we need to be serious about this. They weren't normal bedroom noises – or fucking noises as I would usually call them – there was something more than that going on."



Her blushed again at the language her daughter was using. Adult language. But not the sort that is exchanged between mothers and daughters.



"OK, so yes it was something different last night, different from what you have heard before. I don't know what you think you were hearing, but it was just normal for me and your dad. Letting ourselves go – letting it rip if you like."



She blushed again and began giggling.



"Mom, this isn't funny. You were in pain. Was dad hitting you, is that it? You really need to be honest about what was happening and not try to cover up for dad. I love him, but he has to stop disrespecting you like this."



"I'm not covering up for him and he wasn't hitting me. Just believe me."



"No, I don't believe you. What I believe is that you are doing what lots of abused women do – covering it up out of embarrassment or even fear."



"Darling, this is very personal. And it's about your father as much as me. I really don't feel comfortable talking about this. Can we just drop it?"



The look on her daughter's face told that she would not drop it.



Time for a deep breath. And then …