Blood And Breath

23

The Druids weren’t like other people, but we weren’t so backward as to dictate who a person could and couldn’t marry. “Perhaps if you were responsible enough, I might be able to tell you more about our council meetings. As it is, your choice in … company has not proven you to be trustworthy. When Daeglan O’Connor’s father stepped down two months back, Daeglan took his seat as an elder. He’s been working to restore strength to our people, which includes marrying within our own ranks.” I couldn’t wrap my head around her words. I heard them and understood their meaning, but my brain couldn’t make sense of them. “Are you saying I’ll have to marry another Druid?” “There are plenty of fine young Druid men to choose from. It’s not exactly a hardship.” Her words were firm with conviction, but her hands began to worry at the rag she held, twisting and squeezing at the terry cloth.

My nose began to sting, and my throat tightened with the threat of tears. “How could you even consider supporting a mandate like that? I’m your daughter,” I spat harshly. “You’d have me marry someone I didn’t love just to make the elders happy?” Her features softened just a fraction as she took a small step forward. “Cat, I’m only doing what’s best for ye.” “If that’s what you think, you must not know me at all,” I said in a broken voice before running from the room as the first set of tears broke free and cascaded down my heated cheeks. I bounded out the front door with Mom close on my heels. “You’re acting like a child. Catronia! Cat! You best be home by nightfall!” she hollered from the front steps, but I ignored her screeching voice. By some stroke of luck, the evening air wasn’t terribly cool, so I wandered the streets in my socks for hours. I couldn’t stand the thought of going back home. I considered going to the Huntsman to stay with Rebecca, but my silly pride got in the way. I hated for my friends to know the full extent of my mother’s zealot beliefs. Instead, I let the heartbreak and anger swallow me whole as I roamed the nameless streets. I’d gone from ecstatic optimism to crushing despair in less than twentyfour hours. Something about the extreme nature of the swing made everything feel even worse. Would Fen ever want to see me again? Would my mom succeed in selling me off like livestock? No. Absolutely not. I would never agree to marry someone simply because he was also born into the Druid culture. A twisted sense of duty could never prove more worthy than a chance at true love. The fact that Mom would even entertain such a possibility was nauseating. I’d tried so hard to be the best daughter I could be. I was polite, did well in school, and followed my mother’s rules. I rarely fought back against her overprotective instincts and tried to understand her perspective as a single mother when our opinions differed. Despite all of my efforts, our relationship had continued to unravel over the past few years. But this? I wasn’t sure how we could ever find our way back to one another if she didn’t support my right to choose my own spouse. That was a demand I was unwilling to meet. Maybe all of this was my fault for not putting my foot down earlier. Had I rebelled at a younger age, would she have been more apt to have given me space, or would she have doubled down and suffocated me with rules and expectations? I had no answers except that things would have to change. We’d reached a point of divergence, and I could no longer continue down the same path. I had to strike out on my own and show her that my life was my own. Show her that she held no more sway over me. My first step would be to move into my own apartment. Initially, I had entertained my mother’s wishes that I move in with Aileen because it wasn’t all that important to me who I lived with, and a roommate would help with living expenses. Now, I could see that wasn’t an option. I would have to reject her chosen roommate purely on principle. Living with Aileen would send the wrong message. I needed Mom to understand unequivocally that I was independent of her and the Druid elders. There was a distinct possibility that taking such drastic steps would leave me without any family. It wasn’t the start in life I would have chosen for myself, but I saw no other way. My shoulders rounded at the pain spearing through my chest. I reminded myself that I had friends who cared about me, but it did little to bolster me at the moment. Cleaving my mother out of my life would leave a gaping wound that might never heal. Not when the separation sprang from such a bitter betrayal. Mom was choosing the Druid faith over me, and that cut deep. My only hope was that she might come to her senses at the prospect of losing me. If she could see how confused her priorities had become, maybe then we could begin to heal. I snuck back inside the house well past midnight. Emotional exhaustion quickly tugged me into a fitful sleep. By the time I woke the next morning, my blankets had migrated to the floor, and I’d somehow rotated sideways in the small bed. I had decided the night before that I would attend my mother’s dinner to keep the peace and give her an opportunity to see the error of her ways. Should I see no remorse from her, I would continue with my plans to find a new place to live come Monday morning. Riling her up in the meantime served no purpose. I showered because my hours of wandering had left me smelling musty, but I didn’t put any more effort than necessary into my appearance. I didn’t wear makeup on a regular day, so I certainly wasn’t going to change that for our company. Mom never attempted to initiate a conversation. I would have been lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed, though I wasn’t truly surprised. I’d known my foolish hope of reconciliation was little more than a pipe dream. With no reason to leave my room, I didn’t emerge until the front bell rang. Wearing jeans, a simple long-sleeve shirt, and a scowl, I joined my mother at the front door. “Moira, Jimmy, it’s so good to have you. Come in, please.” My mother ushered in our guests, and as I rounded the corner, I gave them each a tight smile that was more grimace than greeting. Moira was a few years older than my mom and a good deal heavier. Her husband was a large man with a rotund belly hanging over his belt. Both were dressed in their Sunday best and reminded me of the stereotypical goofy neighbors in a 1950s sitcom. “Colleen, it’s a pleasure, thank you. Let me introduce our son. This is Brandan.” Moira put a hand on her son’s narrow shoulder and gazed up at him as if he’d hung the moon. “Brandan, it’s lovely to meet you. This over here is my daughter, Catronia.” She waved me over, but I stood firmly in place and nodded my hello from the other side of the room. Brandan wasn’t necessarily unattractive if you liked the tall, weaselly type. He flicked his head to toss his sandy-blond hair out of his eyes and offered a leering smirk. Lovely.