Many thanks once again to those who leave reviews! Another new perspective - which was difficult to write. Let me know what you think. Happy reading! =)

"What the daughter does, the mother did." – Jewish Proverb

She is seated across from me in the modern Italian restaurant, a menu open in front of her, and her eyes scanning the pages. My menu lays open in front of me, but I find I cannot tear my eyes from her. After years of no interaction with her, save for a few intermittent short phone calls assuring me she was alive and needed nothing from me, it's nice to simply be in the same vicinity as her. While we have always had differences in opinion and I've been less than an award-worthy mother, the fact remains that I love my daughter. Not being in contact with her, not knowing what's going on in her life, not being there for her – it all stings, despite what she may think.

While she may be the profiler, I take in her carefully guarded demeanour and deduce she feels the same tension I do. The conversation up to this point has surrounded safe topics, and has not even scratched the surface of anything of consequence. But despite the tension, and our seemed inability to discuss anything outside of the weather or current news and events, I can't help but feel somewhat hopeful. Simply being in each other's company is a big step for us both, and we're both aware of that fact. I can't help but feel that we're starting to bridge the massive gap between us.

She decides on her meal and politely asks if we should order some wine. I agree and indicate she should pick a bottle. She nods and offers a small smile.

The waiter arrives and she orders the wine and her meal in flawless Italian. The waiter's eyes widen, and a smile graces his face as he fires back a few clarifying questions in Italian, clearly enjoying the opportunity to speak in his native tongue. I give my own order, and hand over my menu.

We talk and reminisce about delicious meals we enjoyed during our time in Rome before I decide to seize the lack of available distractions and delve into a topic somewhat deeper than food and the nice weather we've been enjoying.

"So Emily, you and your team seem to be just as impressive as all the tales suggest."

"They are an impressive bunch of individuals," she says, deflecting attention away from herself as she has always done.

"It's a good fit for you then?"

"Yes. It's a real challenge, and I feel I'm doing something worthwhile."

"Good. I'm glad."

We settle into a prolonged silence that is uncomfortable for us both, but is thankfully interrupted by the waiter bringing our food. We both begin eating, with years of proper etiquette showing in our behaviour and mannerisms.

Conversation tentatively starts again when she comments on the high quality of her meal, and how well the wine pairs with it. I agree, and offer my thanks for her excellent choice in wine. She offers another small smile in return, and I can't help but think that I've seen her smile more in the last hour than I have in all the time since she was a child.

"Let's go over it one more time, Emily."

"Mom," she says in a tone full of derision. "We've gone over it a thou-"

"Emily," I say sharply, interrupting her.

"What?" she snaps. I see her eyes flair and an angry expression settle onto her face.

"You agreed to be pleasant."

"That was before you started treating me like I'm five years old."

"The way you're acting right now, it's warranted," I reply as I cross my arms.

"Oh come on. Just because you don't like what I have to say isn't a reason to treat me like I'm a little kid."

"I'm doing nothing of the sort."

She mutters something inaudible under her breath and shoots a cutting look in my direction.

I sigh in annoyance, "Guests are due to arrive in 20 minutes or so. Go upstairs to your room and change."

She shifts on her feet and I see an all too familiar stubbornness enter her eyes.

"No."

"Pardon me?"

"I. Said. No. What part of that did you not understand?"

"The part where you disobeyed me."

Flames of anger join the stubbornness in her eyes as she glares at me, but says nothing in reply.

"You're being completely unreasonable. All I'm asking for is a few hours of pleasant behaviour."

"It's not unreasonable when all you do is use me to get ahead in your career. There's always some party or some dinner to go to."

"I'm giving you the opportunity to meet people that you and your friends would be honoured to speak with."

"Friends? What friends?! We just got here a few weeks ago. You really think that us moving every few months gives me any chance to make friends? I'm always the new girl, the one who can't speak the language, the one who doesn't fit in because I'm from a completely different culture. Why can't we just stay in one place for longer than a few months? Oh wait, I know. It's because your stupid career comes first."

"That career has provided you with the opportunity to see the world and receive the finest education available," I point out, choosing to ignore her choice in words.

"You're so missing the point."

"What is the point then?" I ask exasperatingly

"Never mind. I'm not coming to dinner. Tell them whatever you want, but I'm not coming down. You'll have to find some other way of making your connections or whatever."

"Emily. Go upstairs and change. I expect you downstairs in 10 minutes."

"Did you not hear me? I'M NOT COMING DOWN FOR DINNER!"

"Funny, I was under the impression that you were my daughter," I pause at her glare of contempt. "And my daughter was taught to respect her elders."

"Only when they're deserving of respect," she fires back quickly.

"Emily. Go and change for dinner. You're wasting precious time."

"I told you, I'm not eating dinner with you."

"YES YOU ARE!" I yell back, having finally reached my patience threshold. I take a deep breath, and replace my anger and frustration with a neutral expression before continuing. "You will not ruin this for me. There are a lot of people coming tonight, all of them expecting to meet you."

She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes as she scrutinizes me.

"I'll make you a deal, Mother." I cringe slightly at her change from 'Mom' to 'Mother'.

" If you can tell me what I performed at my last piano recital, I'll come to dinner, be pleasant, be the darling Ambassador's daughter, and meet everyone I'm supposed to."

Her tone has lost its harshness, and her eyes no longer hold the fiery anger that had flamed so dangerously only moments ago. Her expression is neutral, and her eyes are seemingly devoid of any emotion. She has put on a mask and boxed away her feelings, shoving them deep down inside of her. The evenness and lack of emotion in her tone is not lost on me, she's trying to make a point.

"You know as well as I do I was in a meeting during your recital. I couldn't just leave, there were very important people there that deserved my attention."

"Yeah, of course there was. Same as the one before this one, and the one before that."

"I'm sorry that my job takes up a lot of my time bu-"

"No you aren't."

"Emily, of course I'd love to spend more time with you, but I-"

"Why should I do anything for you? You do nothing for me."

"I'd hardly call paying for your education and providing you with the best that the world has to offer nothing."

"Whatever."

"Young lady, that's not polite."

"Neither is promising to be there and then not showing up," she says, her tone still unnervingly even.

"Fine. I'll have Connie bring you up some dinner."

"Don't. I'm not hungry."

We stare at each other, arms crossed and a thick tension in the air between us. She somehow seems much older in this instant than her actual years. Something about her changes in that moment. Minutes pass before I break the silence, "Well, go on then."

Her eyes narrow further at my words and then she turns abruptly, walking heavily up the stairs to her room.

We didn't speak or make eye contact for a month after that. Not a single word, not a single look. She was only 10. Looking back, something broke in her that day. I broke something in her that day. It was the final straw – after that day she compartmentalized and hid her emotions far away from the surface. From that moment on, our conversations were always short and to the point. She avoided me as best she could, and I went about my usual business. She escaped into her books and stopped trying to tell me about her schoolwork, her recitals, and plays. That day was the catalyst for decades' worth of strained interaction and painful distance.

I don't know what possessed me to ask, or even bring the topic up in the first place, but before I realized the words were escaping my mouth, I was asking, "Do you remember that argument we had when you were about 10?"

She puts down her fork, takes a quick sip of wine, and wipes her mouth with her napkin before answering, "You'll have to be more specific, I'm afraid. What was it regarding?"

"You didn't want to come to dinner that night," I reply. I see her expression change to one of reflection as she tries to pull the right memory from her boxes. "You had just had a piano recital a few days before that I wasn't able to attend," I continue, not really sure of where this conversation is actually headed.

"I made a deal with you – if you could name the piece I performed I would go to dinner," she says as she frowns in concentration.

"Yes, that's the one."

"As I recall that deal fell through."

"Yes. Yes it did," I say in response. My mind races, trying to fashion a way out of this awkward predicament that I'd somehow gotten myself into.

"Why do you ask?" her tone is even and her eyes are devoid of any emotion, just as they were all those years ago.

"I was just remembering it is all."

"Oh. I see."

Silence overtakes us once more as we pick up our forks and continue eating the last few bites of our meals before ordering dessert. She sits, perfectly poised, her eyes scrutinizing my behaviour and mannerisms.

Dessert arrives and she pauses before taking the first bite. Her gaze meets mine for a second before she drops it back to the dessert in front of her.

"Moonlight Sonata," she says quietly.

"I'm sorry?"

"The piece I performed at that recital. It was Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, the first movement."

"I love that piece."

"I know. That's why I chose it. My teacher thought it was too difficult for me, but I insisted. I suppose I hoped that you would have enjoyed it and been proud of me."

"Emily-"

"Mother, let me finish please."

I nod and gesture for her to continue.

"You have no idea how much it hurt to look out and not see you there. You promised me that you'd be there, and you weren't," she says in a small voice, casting her eyes downward.

For just a moment as she makes this uncharacteristic admission of emotion, she is 10 years old again, looking up at me with her big brown eyes and stringy dark hair. For just a moment I see the child whose heart and spirit I broke, the girl whose entire childhood I sacrificed for the good of my own career. For just a moment I see the girl who put up those walls and fashioned those boxes to shield herself from the pain and disappointment.

"Why didn't you come? What was it that was so important?" she continues. I see the emotion leaking through her walls, and breaking out of the boxes.

I'm left speechless. I know I should respond. I know I should explain that it was a terrible decision, and one I regret deeply. I know I should tell her how sorry I am, and try to repair some of the damage I'd caused. But the words cannot form, and years of being a diplomat have trained me to hold a neutral expression.

She lets out a long, shaky breath, and squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. When they open, the emotion has disappeared, the boxes have slammed shut, and the walls have been fortified.

"Let's just finish dessert, Mother. It would be a shame to put such delicious food to waste."

And with that she has retreated behind her defenses, and I can tell there is no coaxing her out again. I resign myself to the fact that I'd lost my daughter long ago, and there is no easy way to get her back. She is far too similar to me to simply forgive me for what I have done and move on. Like mother, like daughter.

If you have a spare moment, I'd love to hear what you think! (=