ENOUGH

The point of the exercise was mute. She had been done with her mother many years ago. Sitting there in the plush office, tangled in the burgundy armchair, she was doing her best to look something other than bored. Except, like mothers somehow do, Haven suspected her daughter's resistance.

"This is supposed to be a bonding exercise," she whittled, digging her claws into the girl who was seated in the armchair across from her. "We are supposed to work on being a family."

Except that the word family was the one that dug its claws in this time.

She remained quiet, thoughtful, as she gathered herself, preparing to make a hasty exit. Until the doctor held a hand up to each side, sensing that the girl wouldn't talk and the mother would never stop. "I think that we should let Alice have a turn for a while," he explained, extending a small marble that had signified their voice in the debates between the two sides of the argument.

Looking at the polished surface, she realized that it was the same color as the tombstone they had just picked out for the gravestone for her grandparents. Dell had died of a heart attack--Heather had died of heartbreak. At the double funeral, Alice had been calm, receptive to family, and managing with the many children that scampered about. Great Grandchildren, nieces, nephews, cousins--so many people. The situation had made her head positively swirl with how many people had come to lend their voices to the tragedy of losing two grandparents, especially a couple as close as they had been. The only one who failed to remain civil had been Haven Connolly, with her latest child and stepchildren in tow. Her husband had been delayed, kept because of an outbreak in Bulgaria. It hurt Alice to see her there with three children, of which two were not her blood. It hurt because her mother never cared enough to take her anywhere. And yet--she was grateful that she was capable of caring for those children, capable of loving and laughing.

But it made her realize that all her life, the problem hadn't been her mother. It had been herself.

"Alice?"

Twin curtains of raven hair swung as her gaze drifted up, her eyes snagging on the hand holding the marble. "I--" she started to say. "I have nothing to add. I--" she began again, gathering her few things, checking her watch, preparing for a hasty escape. "Dinner plans at six," she explained, standing up. "I have to go."

Haven groaned, gesturing toward her daughter as if to say This is what I have to deal with. The doctor was patient, but uncomfortable, at least for the girl, who seemingly had no interest in staying. "Why don't you just share a few words with us, maybe..." he paused, flipping through his notes. "Share a time that made you feel happy."

"I can't," she answered, sliding on her coat, wrapping the bright red scarf around her neck. "I don't have time."

"Bullshit!" her mother snarled.

The doctor waved her down with his hand, his expression quickly becoming exasperated. It was clear that he would get nothing done with either of them if the energy in the room didn't change. He stood, crossing the room to follow Alice, who had already opened and closed the door behind her, left in search of a place where her mother could not dictate her actions. He found her in the hall, her back pressed against the wall, all composure lost from her face. It was the first time he had seen her, noticed the stress, the loss, the daily cost of living. "I didn't know," he explained, but in the moment he spoke, she was gone, like an elastic band stretched too far and snapped back together--like nothing was wrong. Nothing had changed. No physical evidence remained of the moment when he had seen the real girl beneath the mask. "Can you--" he started to speak, but she had already begun to walk back into the room, where she settled back into the chair, much to her mother's satisfaction.

Instead of the tolerance, however, he noticed something else. A driving force. He started to jot down the notes, but he almost noticed as it was too late. She looked determined.

"All of my life I have let you tell me who to be and what to do and where to go," Alice offered crisply, like someone paying another person for their silence in a matter. Like someone ready to take a bullet or personally dismantle a bomb. "I was the child you didn't want. Maybe I wasn't pretty enough or smart enough or nice enough for you--"

Haven started to speak, but it was Alice's turn to stop her dead in her tracks. "ENOUGH!" she seethed.

"I have had enough. I have lived with you riddling me with insecurities my entire life. And enough is enough. I am done with listening to you--with letting you badger me into doing what you want. I stood there while they put your mother and father in the ground, my grandparents and the closest thing to real parents that I have ever had, while you complained about the flowers, while you complained about the grave site and the wind and the rain and if someone cried too loudly. Never once did I hear remorse that they were gone. Never once did I hear you care about them."

Now she stood.

"Well, the truth is, You are not my mother. You have never been and will never be. You are the mother of those three children now--the ones with your new last name. So stop pretending that you have ever cared for me. Because as long as I have existed and for the rest of the time here on earth that I do, I will never care for you again."

She gathered her things, her mother's mouth wide with shock and almost something akin to humor. "I didn't know you felt that way."

"Bullshit," Alice parroted, letting the door slam shut as she made her exit.

- - - - - - -

The months that followed the formal disowning of any family who had ever tried to make her reconnect with her mother were hard. Her father had never been part of the picture and never would be. She felt like he was a coward--living in the past, never willing to move forward and claim what was right. The blame, yes, somewhat rested on his shoulders for not taking better care of Ash--but for how many years would he continue to act like the accident had been yesterday?

Cutting off ties to the people who tried to mold her, however, made her stronger. Happier.

And for the first time in years, when Fred Weasley asked her to tea, she agreed, meeting him with a hug and a smile that had finally reached her eyes.