Flash Fiction: Being the recipient of a Leo’s generosity sometimes comes with a price

Photo by Michael Spain on Unsplash

I pull in front of her house, park the car, and sigh.

I stopped trying a while ago. That is, I stopped trying to have the type of relationship with her that I wanted. Now, it was all about boundaries. Establishing my boundaries wasn’t the hard part; continually reinforcing them is.

I give her very little because, as soon as she thinks she has an opening she takes an opportunity to try to control me, to push her agenda.

Still, I feel obligated to spend some time with her because, after all, she’s family.

She walks slowly to my car, as if she has all the time in the world. Her fixed energy makes her want to maintain the status quo, always. It’s anathema to me; I’m all about moving forward, moving on, accomplishing things. Like a lion, she tends to rest on her laurels.

She gets in my car.

“Hi,” I state, as enthusiastically as I can muster.

“How are you doing?” she asks.

“I’m great,” I answer, giving no more.

“I didn’t hear what happened about your car.”

My car had broken down on a weekend when I was supposed to drive over and see her.

“Oh, it got fixed. Just a worn-out battery, after all.”

“After you told me about it, I didn’t hear from you and I thought, wow, she must be really mad or something.”

I purse my lips. She’s suggesting that I am somehow obligated to fill her in on the details of my life.

She looks at me as I pull the car away.

“Your hair looks nice. That’s how I like it, when you wear it straight.”

Annoyed, I state, “thank you.”

“It doesn’t look good when you wear it curly.”

“Please do not tell me how to wear my hair. It’s not your business.”

“I wasn’t telling you how to wear your hair. I was giving you a compliment. I mean, if that’s how you decide to take it —”

I remain silent. There is nothing else to say.

“I’m sorry you’re offended,” she continues. “I’m sorry that’s how you took it.”

Hmm, I think. Not really an apology.

She looks at me expectantly. “How was your week?”

“It was good.” Again, I refuse to volunteer anything.

After a few seconds, she can no longer resist.

“Well,” she says, sitting up straight, “would you like to hear about my week?”

“Sure.”

She proceeds to give me the blow-by-blow of her work and social schedule. Her seemingly superficial goings-on are not anything I really care about, other than to once again wonder at how we are so different despite the fact that I carry half of her chromosomes.

“By the way,” she interrupts her own ruminations, “did you get the Halloween card I sent you?”

“Yes, I did. Thank you very much. And thank you for the gift card you included with it. That was very thoughtful.”

“Oh, I wondered whether you got it since I didn’t hear anything.”

“Let me ask you something.” Now I can’t resist.

“Yes?”

“What is your purpose in giving people gifts?”

“What do you mean?”

“You always ask everyone whether we got your gifts and cards. Is the reason you give gifts to have the recipient recognize your gift?”

“Well-”

“I mean, isn’t the purpose of a gift a selfless act? If the giver gives a gift because she wants recognition, isn’t that selfish?”

“I don’t think so. It’s nice to hear a thank you.”

I sigh. Why can’t I just let it go? She’ll never change. The sooner I can accept that, the sooner I can be at peace.

“So where would you like to go to dinner?” I ask.