The Ideal Mother

"Um... actually," Joey said softly, but with startling firmness. "My mother is an ideal mother. Anyone who thinks otherwise is an idiot. And Indira is an adult. She should get to make her own decisions about her future. Yes, she's a good girl. But if she wants to become a dropout, or a bimbo, or spend her nights in a boy's bedroom... that's up to her. Not you."

Silence.

For a few long moments, no one breathed.

Then: Neha sat back in her chair, spine straight but eyes glazed over slightly—conflicted, like she was trying to remember the thread of her argument but couldn't quite find it. Her lips parted once, then shut again.

The Granger boy didn't speak. He didn't need to. He'd said enough.

Neha looked from Joey to Donna. Her voice, when it came, was quieter. Not submissive exactly, but… different.

"I… suppose I've been very controlling. I didn't mean to insult you," she said slowly, fingers tightening around her teacup. "I only want what's best for Indira. But I may not know what that is anymore."

Donna smiled softly. "None of us do. That's why we give them space to become who they're meant to be."

Neha nodded faintly, the motion stiff but real.

But inside, everything was unraveling.

My mother is an ideal mother.

An ideal mother.

The phrase circled in Neha's mind like a mantra. Not just a compliment—Joey hadn't said "a great mom" or "she does her best." No. He had said ideal. As in… the standard. The model. The benchmark.

Her eyes drifted toward Donna Granger.

Pink glitter makeup. Navy blue power suit. Twin tails in her hair. A body-hugging blouse that clung to her figure, paired with heels that Neha would've considered scandalous at a wedding, let alone a tea visit. Since they'd met that morning, Neha had thought of Donna as garish, loud, Westernized in the worst way. But now, that entire worldview buckled. Cracked. Shifted.

Donna wasn't just permitted to look like that. She was ideal because of it.

Neha suddenly saw the contrast—herself, in her old, wrinkled saree, her hair pulled unkempt, no makeup save for a dash of kajal. For years, she had thought this was how a mother should look. Modest. Serious. Unwavering.

But what had that ever done for her children?

She clenched her jaw.

Indira had changed. Even just in the last few days. Short skirts. That tight little top she'd snuck out in, cleavage on display, bare midriff—Neha had wanted to scream. To drag her back inside and cover her up.

But what if that instinct had been… wrong?

Because Donna dressed that way. Donna was successful. Powerful. She commanded attention. Neha had clung to the past—clung to her values like a raft—but maybe the current had changed, and she was just adrift. Maybe she had failed to see what a modern mother looked like.

A good mother didn't hide her beauty. She owned it. She put it in her store window for all to see

And suddenly Neha saw Indira differently—not rebellious or misguided, but brave. Emulating someone worth emulating.

Donna Granger.

Neha swallowed hard. A sharp bloom of shame flushed across her cheeks.

Anyone who thinks otherwise is an idiot.

The words thudded inside her. Not just wrong. Not just misguided. An idiot.

Her hand trembled around her teacup.

She had called Donna irresponsible. She had accused her of failing her daughter. She had even questioned her morality.

Idiot.

The word echoed, harder now. She had been arrogant. So sure that discipline and modesty and fear would guide her daughter toward success. But it was Donna who had raised a son strong enough to speak the way Joey just had. It was Donna who had raised a daughter like Juniper—charming, fashionable, confident. And it was Donna who had shaped Indira now, not with lectures, but with presence, with an invitation to something bigger and better than anything Neha had given her.

Neha had failed. She wasn't proud. She was clinging.

She bowed her head slightly.

I've been an idiot, she thought.

She would do better.

For her children.

Indira.

The image of her daughter in that white skirt and tiny top surfaced—fresh and vivid. Neha had been furious then. Embarrassed. Ashamed. But now… her chest swelled with something far stranger. Something like… pride. Indira got it. She had adjusted. She had changed faster than her mother ever could. She wasn't defiant. She was aware—of the world, of the power of femininity, of what it took to stand out. To be noticed. To be chosen.

Neha's eyes welled slightly.

She would be an excellent mother one day. She would. Because she would do anything for her children. For eighteen years she had lived under a lie, believing that what she was doing, who she was, would be good for her children. She had seen women like Donna Granger as an affront to proper parenting. She had been so stupid.

But she could change. It wasn't too late. Yes, she had missed Indira's childhood, but she was still her mother. And she had the boys to think of. She could change. She could become like Donna.

She was so much better than Neha had ever been.

And she deserved more than a scolding or a lecture. She deserved respect.

And Indira is an adult. She should get to make her own decisions about her future. Yes, she's a good girl. But if she wants to become a dropout, or a bimbo, or spend her nights in a boy's bedroom... that's up to her. Not you.

Nothing about Indira's behaviour, her life, had ever caused Neha to question whether or not her daughter was a good girl. But she had never allowed herself to recognize the fact that her little girl had, in fact, become a woman. Another parental failure. But it was true. She was an adult. She had responsibilities she could handle on her own, and she should be allowed to plan her own future. How had Neha missed that?

And while Neha had a future she had hoped for Indira, she now saw that she was severely overstepping. Part of being a mother was being proud of her daughter, no matter what. Could she be proud of her daughter if she decided to become one of these Western women who she had always considered slutty, no self-esteem, using their bodies instead of their minds? She would have to be. If Indira ran out and said that she wanted this Joey boy to take her home to his bedroom so he could have his way with her? Neha would give her blessing. Because that was what Indira wanted, which meant it was the right thing.

Neha's judgement was obviously impaired. She'd spent years raising her children incorrectly, being the wrong kind of woman to give them the life they needed. But there she was, having tea in the presence of a woman who didn't just have it figured out, she was the embodiment of the ideal mother. Perhaps there was something she could do, some wisdom she could glean from Donna Granger.

"Yes," Neha murmured softly, to herself as much as anyone else. "She's a good girl. And she knows what she's doing."

She looked up, eyes meeting Donna's again. A new warmth in them.

Donna reached across the table and touched her hand gently.

"I know it's hard," she said. "Motherhood is always hard. That's how we know it's worth it."

Neha blinked.

An exposed, hollowed out feeling threatened to overwhelm her. Her footing, which had felt so sure just moments ago, washed away in the tide of knowing that she knew nothing. But the way Donna Granger looked at her, this angel of a woman—like a sister, like a leader—made her straighten her shoulders just slightly.

"I've been holding on to her too tightly," Neha whispered. "My rules. My upbringing. I just… I thought that if I didn't protect her, I'd lose her."

"And maybe you would've," Donna said. "But sometimes we have to let go a little. Trust them. Be proud of them, even when it feels scary."

Neha let out a slow breath.

"I think I need help."

Donna smiled, warm and radiant. "Then you're already ahead of most mothers I know."

There was something magnetic about her now. Something Neha hadn't been able to see before. She wasn't just flamboyant. She was confident. She was radiant. She knew who she was—and wasn't afraid to claim it.

And she wanted to help Neha.

Neha found herself nodding again.

"If you… don't mind," she said carefully, "I would be grateful if you'd show me. How to be more like you."

Donna's smile turned tender.

"I'd love that."

And as the two women sat across from each other—teacups cooling, hands touching, the air between them softened by understanding. She could feel it. This was a beginning. Donna Granger looked at her as if it wasn't too late to learn, to course correct. It would be a lot to learn, but Neha would commit. She wanted to be a good mother, and having the ideal mother to teach her was an opportunity that not many people in the world were allotted. As she stared at the woman who had so recently been a stranger, she took note of everything about her, admiring every choice Donna had made—how she moved, how she dressed, how she smiled.

Neha smiled.

Now everything was going to be better.