Savior Complex: A Small Town Love Triangle Romance

That said, this burger is the first junk food I’ve had in weeks. In my efforts to avoid slipping into that deep dark place, I’ve been reaching for healthier meals, and even taking walks and practicing yoga. I figured I could fight the doldrums by taking care of my body. I have no idea what I weigh, though, nor do I care. I threw my scale out last week, and I’ll be damned if I bring another into my house.

But right now, after weeks of balanced meals, this burger tastes like heaven. “Damn,” I say after another mouthful.

My mom, with her own burger, nods in agreement. “I get why you eat this crap all the time.”

“About that,” I say, setting my burger down and grabbing a napkin. “I need you to stop commenting on my food.”

“But I—”

“No, Mom. I’m twenty-seven years old, and I’ve been affected by your comments for almost all of them. It needs to stop. You don’t get to say anything if I eat junk food, and you don’t get to comment if I’m eating healthy. You also don’t get to talk about my body, good or bad. It’s none of your business what I eat, or how much space I take up. So please stop.”

My mom is quiet for a moment, then closes her eyes and sighs. “Damn it,” she mutters, then she looks at me. “I don’t know why I didn’t see this before. I am so sorry.” There’s a look on her face that seems both faraway and ashamed, and I realize something I never saw before, either.

“Did Nanna Dot tell you that you were fat?”

“Fat, lazy, stupid. You name it. There was one summer that I ate only one meal a day and got down to eighty-nine pounds. I was practically bones, but she pinched the loose skin at my hips and told me she’d never marry me off since I was so fat.”

My mouth drops at this. I try to reconcile my mom’s description with the Nanna Dot I knew. My grandmother was plump and matronly, full of smiles and always ready with warm cookies. She listened to me for hours when I cried about boys, or friends, and especially about my mom. She was always on my side, and would tell me that my mother had no clue how to raise a daughter the right way.

I thought I was lucky to have her, someone who listened and understood how cruel my mother was—and my mother was cruel. But never once did my grandmother defend her, or say anything nice about my mom at all.

The pieces start shifting into place.

“Mom, tell me about your childhood.”

So she does. What she describes is so eerily similar to mine, but so much worse because she didn’t have a father who evened things out, and her mother seemed to have no warmth for her daughters at all. They’d been left a lot of money to survive when my grandfather died, but it was at a time when women didn’t have the same rights as men. My mom spoke of Nanna Dot with some compassion, recognizing how hard it must have been to raise two girls when she couldn’t even get a credit card in her name. But also, my grandmother rode my mom and Aunt Lil hard, making them feel like they were never good enough. In return, they had daughters they raised with the lessons they learned.

The cycle continued.

“The nail in the coffin was my mother’s inheritance,” my mom says, and I feel something strange in my chest.

“Mom, I never told Nanna Dot to make me her sole heir. I didn’t even know I was named in her will. I never thought she would die, so I didn’t think of her inheritance. But I assumed everything was going to you and Aunt Lil. When I was named heir of her estate and fortune, it was just as much of a surprise as it was to you.”

“I know,” my mom says.

“Wait, you knew?” I’m suddenly filled with so much heat, so much anger. “You ran my name through the mud. You told everyone that I stole our family money by manipulating an old woman. But you knew why I was there and wouldn’t even acknowledge your part in that!” I clench my fists, the rage coursing through me as years of unnecessary hurt roll through my mind. “I moved in with Nanna at your suggestion because you didn’t know how to handle a rape victim.” My mom flinches at the word. “That’s right, Mom. Rape. I was raped. I did not spread my legs for those guys, they forced them open. Then, one by one, they forced themselves on me. I was not a whore for what happened. I was a victim.”

“Nina, please.” She reaches forward and clutches my hands. I try to wrench them free, but she holds tight.

“You made me feel like I was worthless,” I scream, but now I’m crying. “Then you shipped me off to Nanna Dot’s like I was ruined goods, like you couldn’t even look at me anymore. You made me keep it a secret from everyone else, as if what happened to me was catching. I felt ashamed and rejected, and ever since then, you have rubbed my face in it. You’ve told me I’m worthless. You’ve made me feel disgustingly huge and incredibly small. You… You… You…” I sob and she pulls me forward into her arms. I resist for just a moment. But it’s almost like Nanna Dot is there, her plump arms wrapping around me, smoothing my hair, telling me I’m perfect the way I am. Except it’s my mother’s slim arms around me. It’s her hand that smooths my hair, and her voice that tells me I’m perfect, that she’s sorry she ever said anything less, and that she promises to be a better mother.

I cry, letting my mother comfort me, the conflict swinging through me like a goddamn pendulum. I’m comforted by her. I’m so angry with her. I don’t know how to feel.

Eventually my sobs ebb, and I pull away to wipe my face.

“There’s no excuse,” my mother says. “I didn’t have the tools, and I was so angry about what happened, and I just… I handled it in the worst way possible. I’m so sorry, Nina.”

“I don’t know what to say. I can’t trust you,” I say.

“I can understand that,” my mom says. “I wouldn’t trust me either. I think I didn’t realize what I was doing to you until this very moment. Rather, I did, but I didn’t know how to turn it off. It’s like I got into this horrible habit with you, unsure how to handle you and what you went through. I knew it wasn’t your fault, and yet…” She shakes her head, wipes her eyes. “Fuck,” she breathes, and I’m momentarily shocked by her profanity. My mother never swears. “I’m just like her, aren’t I?”

“I don’t know,” I say, because I don’t.

She looks around at the place then, her expression one of discomfort. “Polka Dots, huh?”

I know she’s trying to escape what she did to me by changing the subject, but I’m starting to realize I didn’t know everything about my grandmother. The way my mother raised me, it came from what she knew. The fact that it was Nanna Dot who taught this to her…

I’m having a hard time reconciling it. The grandmother I knew was loving and compassionate. She listened to me, and brought me back to feeling human after what those guys did to me. But she was also horrible to my mother and Aunt Lil, who in turn, were horrible to Jordy and me.