She looked at her watch.
“Mom, I’m in a hurry. Martin is waiting for me in the car. Can it be quick?”
I looked at my daughter. I really looked at her. I saw the woman she had become—successful, confident, well dressed—but I also saw her for what she was: someone who had learned to use people without even realizing she was doing it.
“I’m not going to be here for Christmas.”
Amanda blinked in confusion.
“What do you mean you’re not going to be here? Mom, we already agreed.”
“You agreed. I didn’t agree to anything. I heard your conversation last week. I know you planned to leave all eight kids with me while you and Robert went on vacation.”
Her face went rigid.
“You were listening to my private conversations?”
“I was in my own house. You were the one talking out loud without caring if I heard or not.”
“Mom, it’s not a big deal. It’s just a few days. The kids adore you.”
“It’s not a big deal,” I repeated slowly. “It’s not a big deal that you use me as a free nanny. It’s not a big deal that you assume I don’t have a life of my own. It’s not a big deal that you never ask me what I want.”
“What are you talking about? We’ve always included you.”
“Included.” I almost laughed. “Amanda, I wasn’t invited to Martin’s birthday. I wasn’t invited to your anniversary last year. The only time you ‘include’ me is when you need something from me.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
