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“He hadn't wanted her before and he didn't want her now---not the way she'd always imagined. No one wanted someone "weirdly smart" who preferred action figures to dolls, and math puzzles to fairy tales. Her mother had come back after a twelve-year absence to tell her so.
A disturbance at the door caught her attention. Rochelle had just brought Liam into the meeting and was eating him up with her eyes as he shook hands with Brad and Tyler.
Why was it so unbelievable that he would want to marry her? Why did she still hear her mother's voice in her head?
Fake or not, he was her fiancé, and in this game of pretend, a man like him loved a girl like her, and it wasn't okay for Rochelle to be slithering over to steal her man.”
― Sara Desai, The Dating Plan

“That's too bad, Anneliese, the house is really spectacular. Anneke is a true talent."
"It will be a new standard-bearer for the neighborhood," Caroline says.
"I have no doubt," my mother says in a way that implies the opposite. And I? Snap.
"You have every doubt, although I can't imagine why. Exactly what did you want from me, except for me not to exist? I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment, but for the love of god, why on earth did you even come here? Surely with all your experience over these many years and many husbands, you have figured out how to avoid me, why did you come this time? Why did you not just tell Alan I wasn't going to be in town and save us all the fucking painful charade?"
Hedy reaches out and holds my hand, giving it a squeeze in a way that clearly says, "You go, girl." And not, "You might want to shut up now."
"This is why I avoided coming here, to face your accusations. You never wanted me, Anneke, not from the moment you were born. You wouldn't take the breast; I had to bottle-feed you from day one. You never wanted to be near me, always running off, playing by yourself, going into other rooms when I came near. When I would travel, never a card or a letter. Never once did you ever tell me you missed me when I called or when I returned. I did the best I could, Anneke, but it was never good enough."
And then I start to laugh. Because the whole thing is so ridiculous. "I didn't take the BREAST? You're mad at me because I didn't SUCKLE? You didn't travel, Anneliese, you LEFT. For months and years on end. You left me with your bitter, judgmental mother to go off with an endless string of men, and always made clear how uncomfortable you were on your rare visits home. Even when you married Joe and we were together for those three years, you weren't really there, were you? Not like a real mother. Do you know why I may never have kids of my own? Not because I can't or don't want to, but because I'm so afraid of being like you. Of being another in a long line of self-absorbed, cold, aloof bitches who are incapable of providing a loving home. And I will never forgive you for that. For making me think I shouldn't be a mother. But you know what? I'm beyond it. I'm beyond needing your approval or validation. So let me be clear about something, Mommy. Take whatever you need from this evening, because it is the last time you are welcome in my life. Fuck you."
"Hear, hear," Hedy says under her breath.”
― Stacey Ballis, Recipe for Disaster

“Winning the Padma Shri was never my goal. Helping people was."
"Wow, so that's the part you decided to address in what I said?" Every single time her mother showed her where Ashna fell on her list of priorities it hurt as though it were the first time. How could she be so weak?
Her mother sighed. "Don't you at least want to try to understand what my life's been like?"
"I do understand. I was there, remember? Watching from eight thousand miles away." Because you left me. Over and over again.
"I was forced into a marriage with your father."
Not this again. "Thanks for sharing that. After overhearing your fights my entire childhood, you think I didn't figure that out myself?" She had heard those words innumerable times. "You didn't want Baba, you didn't want me. I know. You got stuck with us, and you did what you had to do to make sure you didn't lose yourself, to break the chains, to find your voice. All the things. Now look, Padma Shri! Boom! It all worked out. I'm proud of you and everything, but I'm not the 'Economic Status of Rural Women.' You can't fix me by putting the right systems in place." It was a little late for that.”
― Sonali Dev, Recipe for Persuasion

“You know that I'm the owner of Curried Dreams, right? I inherited it as his wife." Her parents had never gotten divorced. Ashna remembered how guilty she had felt every time she prayed that they would. "I think it's time we sell it."
Ashna dumped the paper towels in the garbage, hands shaking. The urge to press down, crush the garbage until it shrank to the bottom of the bin pushed inside her. "That's a new low, even for you." She gave in and jammed her hand into the garbage, pressing it down until it crushed and folded and smashed.
"You already hate me. I might as well do what's right for you and risk you hating me more."
"How is forcing me to give up my livelihood right for me?" She washed her hands to keep from shoving the garbage again.
"If it weren't for Curried Dreams you would actually be looking for and doing something you enjoyed. You'd get out from that dark place your father thrust you into."
Ashna was shaking now. All she wanted was to walk away. To crawl into bed. To get away from Shobi.
The habit of walking away from things must be a hard one to break.
Go to hell, Frederico Silva!
"Curried Dreams is not a dark place. I can turn it around. I'm close to doing it."
"You're not going to win that show. You don't even like being a chef! You can't win without passion."
"Thanks, Mom. And not all of us are selfish enough to put ourselves and our damn passion before everything else!"
Shobi gasped and Ashna sucked in her lips.”
― Sonali Dev, Recipe for Persuasion

“Don't you think something about her is different? More responsive, more open than she's ever been?"
"Ashna has always had too vulnerable a heart, Shobi. That's been the problem. She feels everyone's pain and internalizes it, and wants to take it away. I think the reason she's had such a hard time with you is that she didn't know what to do with yours. She finds your rage at the world too daunting. She blames herself for it.”
― Sonali Dev, Recipe for Persuasion

“She's my mother. How do you say no to family?"
Marie gets a dark look on her face. "There's a difference between relatives and family. You can be related to someone; that is an accident of genetics. Relatives are pure biology. But family is action. Family is attitude. That woman..." Marie's voice drips with venom. "Is NOT your family. WE are your family. That woman is just your relative."
Hedy's mouth drops, and Caroline's eyes fly open so wide I think they might get stuck.
"Don't hold back there, Marie," Hedy says, finding her voice.
"I'm sorry, but..." Marie's eyes fill with tears.
"Oh no!" Caroline leans over and takes Marie's hand.
Marie shakes it off. "I hate her. I hate that she had the best daughter on the planet and never appreciated her and wasn't ever there for her and never once did anything for her. You guys don't know. She was the most self-absorbed narcissistic cold person..."
"She gave me Joe."
"But..." she says.
I raise my hand. "She. Gave. Me. JOE. Whatever other bullshit happened, the most important thing in my life growing up was Joe. He made me who I am, he helped me find my calling, he was a gift, and everything else is just beyond my ability to get upset about."
"You could get a little upset," Caroline says.
"It takes nothing away from Joe, and how important he was to you, to acknowledge that your mother failed you in almost every way," Hedy says.
"I think you should tell her to go fuck herself," Marie says, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms like a petulant child. I don't know that I've ever seen her so furious. "You guys don't get it, I was THERE. I MET HER. Wanna know how she screws in a lightbulb? Holds it up in the air and lets the universe just revolve around her."
This makes the three of us bust out laughing. "Oh, Marie, I love you. Thank you for being so on my side." It does mean the world to me that my oldest friend is so protective.”
― Stacey Ballis, Recipe for Disaster

“Why is it your business where I go, but not mine where you go?"
"I'm your mother," Irene said coldly.
"Du temps en temps," Morwen snapped. From time to time.”
― Louisa Morgan, A Secret History of Witches

“Next Wednesday is part of our routine, another chance to spend lunch hour doing it somewhere else in Kim's immaculate house. Maybe on the white leather couch next time, the one she loves too much to even let me sit on.”
― Laurie Elizabeth Flynn, Firsts

“Sara was silent, all of her exuberance at being with Perry fading. She had come here to be with him, not to receive a lecture from his mother, no matter how well-intentioned. Why was Perry allowing it without a word? He was being complacent while his mother dominated their time together. Ignoring a twinge of resentment, Sara tried to steer the conversation in a new direction. "Tell me what happened in Greenwood Corners while I was away. How is old Mr. Dawson's gout?"
"Much better," Martha replied. "He actually put his shoes on the other day and went for a stroll."
"His niece Rachel became engaged to Johnny Chesterson the day before last," Perry added.
"Oh, that's wonderful," Sara exclaimed. "The Chestersons are lucky to have such a nice girl in their family."
Martha nodded primly. "Rachel is the kind of spiritual, self-effacing girl that Mr. Kingswood always hoped his son would marry. She would never dream of drawing attention to herself... as some young women do."
"Are you referring to me?" Sara asked quietly.
"I am making a point about Rachel."
Slowly Sara set her cup and saucer on the table and looked at Perry, who had colored at his mother's rudeness. "It's a wonder you never courted such a paragon," Sara told him, smiling although her chest was tightening with anger.
Martha answered for her son. "Perry was never free to court her or any other girls in the village. Someone else was always taking up his time with her demanding possessiveness."
Sara felt her face turn red. "Was that you or me, I wonder?”
― Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

“I think you've forgotten what it means to be happy."
Ashna sank down to her knees next to the tub. A stray hair marred the spotless floor. She picked it up and threw it in the garbage.
"Are you going to say anything at all?"
Ashna wanted to, but her words had a way of hiding away when they sensed Shobi's presence.
"Ashna?" She couldn't tell if Shobi was reprimanding her or if that was concern in her voice. Not that she had any experience with recognizing concern in Shobi's voice.
"You're wrong, Mom. You can only forget something you knew.”
― Sonali Dev, Recipe for Persuasion

“You have no idea how badly I wish you could see my life. Understand it. See me."
"Across the thousands of miles you've always put between us?”
― Sonali Dev, Recipe for Persuasion

“You're moving on from Curried Dreams?" The almost gleeful hope in Shobi's voice strummed every one of Ashna's overstretched nerves.
Baba's been dead for twelve years,she wanted to scream. You can stop fighting with him now. "No, I'm not. But I'm going to be on a competitive cooking show as a pro chef." Her voice sounded strong and clear for the first time since she'd heard Shobi's hello. She leaned in and met her own eyes in the mirror.
"Reality TV? You?" The voice on the phone stretched between skepticism and outright disbelief.
Shobi's favorite metaphorical chains stretched at the links around Ashna. "Yes. If I win I can pay down the debt on Curried Dreams. And no, I'm never giving up on it."
The frustrated sound Shobi made was so delicious that for one lovely second Ashna didn't care about anything else.”
― Sonali Dev, Recipe for Persuasion

“I'm sure you'll figure out how it's all my fault," she says petulantly.
"Anneliese, could you please just shut the fuck up," I say. "None of this is your business. These people are the most wonderful loving parents, they are concerned for their son, and they have every right to be. Because they have always been there for him, they have earned his love and his respect. They get to have an opinion. You on the other hand are a sack of vanity and self-absorption, and you have never ever been there for me, so you don't get to say ANYTHING.”
― Stacey Ballis, Recipe for Disaster

“I thought the nonsense between you and that Myers boy was over years ago," Mama said.
I made a face. "Stop projecting your issues on me. Eddie wasn't good enough for you, so Alex isn't good enough for me. Not that it matters. He's here because Eddie wants me kept safe."
She waited until I began my facial cleansing ritual before speaking. "This has nothing to do with Edward and me."
"Right.”
― Kate Young, Southern Sass and Killer Cravings

“I set up the skin of Estelle's bird number 5, the marbled godwit---- a migratory visitor to Florida, like me. I draw the beak twice as long as the head, tapering down to the width of a knitting needle, then fill in the back and wings with terrazzo mottling, brown and black and white. It has long legs and an exquisite neck. I hope this bird gets a prominent place in the exhibit.
On my second sheet, a young woman kneels on black soil, her back to the viewer, dark hair in a chignon. She pulls at the weeds that crowd her precious bee balm, betony, dock, and rue. She wipes her cheek with the back of her wrist, avoiding the dirt on her glove.
I should go see my mother today, but to be honest, I don't feel like it. Yes, she's an oldish person, displaced from her home, who might count on someone to come and break her solitude. But that journal entry... I simmered while Loni played... gives new color to my lifelong weariness.
Godwit. I draw the bird flying blessedly north, displaying her gorgeous cinnamon wings.”
― Virginia Hartman, The Marsh Queen

“This is our family's restaurant! What do y'all think you're doing? You want to sell the building?"
"Excuse me, little girl, this is my restaurant, and don't you talk to Buster like that. If it wasn't for him, we'd be closed!" my mom said, glaring at me.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Yeah. Thanks, Buster. Did a real nice job here! Go look at the freaking disaster in the vegetable walk-in and the mess in the kitchen. Great job! Zagat will be here any minute now," I said.
"Don't be such a little bitch, Maggie. No one here gives a shit about Zagat," Mom said.
"That was really rude, Mom. Please don't talk to me that way, it hurts me when you use language like th---"
"Oh, don't give me that therapy bullshit language. I'm not a mental patient," my mother yelled.
"Yeah. Not today," I said under my breath.
"What was that?”
― Victoria Benton Frank, My Magnolia Summer

“Mom, I love you! I'm going to stay here a few more days and fill in for you at the Lantern. We can talk later. I hope you feel better. I'm sorry... for your loss." I looked at Alice, who was shaking her head.
"Oh, fuck off, Maggie," my mom said, spinning around.
"That is enough!" Alice said in a louder voice than I'd ever heard her use. "Lillian Grace, you listen to me. We know you are sad, but sadness can't be a weapon you use against your own family. Maggie is your child! You can't drag the world down with you because you have a broken heart. Those things you said... she might never forget them! You are being selfish and foolish, and I know your momma taught you better than this. You lay yourself down and I'll be back to check on you in a few hours. You think long and hard about what you said. You owe your daughter an apology, because what you said is just not true. Come on, Maggie."
"I'm not a child, Alice," my mom said.
"That so? Then grow up," Alice said.”
― Victoria Benton Frank, My Magnolia Summer

“I will not be forced to marry!" Merida yelled.
She drew a claymore from the display stand, not because she thought she needed the long sword for protection, but because she felt more at peace with its heavy weight in her hand. Her mother had never understood her. She wanted Merida to be like her, a prim and proper royal lady. But Merida had never felt drawn to that life. She wanted to be free.
She relished the feel of the wind in her hair as she raced her horse across the glen. Delighted in the exhilaration of hitting a target from fifty paces away with her bow and arrow, or tumbling in the dirt with her three brothers.
She was her father's lass, not her mother's proper princess.”
― Farrah Rochon, Fate Be Changed

“I will not be forced to marry!" Merida yelled.
She drew a claymore from the display stand, not because she thought she needed the long sword for protection, but because she felt more at peace with its heavy weight in her hand. Her mother had never understood her. She wanted Merida to be like her, a prim and proper royal lady. But Merida had never felt drawn to that life. She wanted to be free.
She relished the feel of the wind in her hair as she raced her horse across the glen. Delighted in the exhilaration of hitting a target from fifty paces away with her bow and arrow, or tumbling in the dirt with her three brothers.
She was her father's fierce lass, not her mother's proper princess.”
― Farrah Rochon, Fate Be Changed

“And just as he was describing the event, his body began to slightly tremble again - a visceral reaction to the memory of his mother. The trauma of her leaving had seeped into his cells.”
― Juliette Rose Kerr, To Fill a Jar With Water