My Failed Comedian Mother Mocked My Suicide Attempt At My Engagement Party. I Decided To “Roast” Her In Front Of Her Entire Circle. Did I Go Too Far?

Chapter 4: The Roast

I started with how my mom got pregnant with me at 17 by her married English teacher, Mr. Randolph. How she blackmailed him for money until his wife found out and he killed himself. How Gina kept the suicide note that mentioned her by name.

The comedians stopped laughing. I continued about how Gina gave me vodka in my bottle to make me sleep through her parties. How she brought men home who would comment on how I was developing.

How she told me to be nicer to them because they paid our rent. How she stole my college fund from my grandmother’s inheritance and spent it on comedy classes she failed. I told them about her getting fired from 12 jobs for stealing.

About her going to rehab four times but leaving when they wouldn’t let her perform at group therapy. About her showing up to my high school drunk and the principal calling child services. About her telling the social worker I was lying for attention.

The room was dead quiet. Gina tried to laugh it off, but I kept going. I told them about the time she showed up at my eighth-grade talent show so drunk she fell off her chair, and how the other parents had to help her to the parking lot. While I pretended I didn’t know her.

I described finding her passed out in our bathtub with a lit cigarette that burned a hole in the shower curtain. I mentioned the Christmas she sold my Nintendo for drug money and told me Santa wasn’t real anymore because we were too poor.

Chapter 5: The Walkout

Ted stood up first, not looking at either of us, and walked toward the door without saying anything. Lucy stared at Gina with her mouth slightly open. The same way people look at car accidents they can’t stop watching.

Kira held her phone up the whole time, recording everything, and I could see the red light that meant it was still going. The vindication felt like electricity in my chest, hot and bright and powerful. But underneath it, something cold was spreading through my stomach.

I just destroyed my mother in front of everyone she knew, everyone who made up her whole social life. And the look on her face made me feel like I’d kicked a dog.

She tried to laugh that fake comedian laugh she used when jokes bombed, but her voice cracked halfway through and came out like a cough. Her face had gone white under her makeup, and I could see a vein pulsing in her neck.

Gina opened her mouth and the word: “Liar,” came out, but it sounded weak and desperate instead of angry.

She said I was making things up for attention, that I always exaggerated everything. But her hands were shaking so hard she had to put down her drink. The other comedians were looking at each other, having silent conversations with their eyes. I knew they were remembering all the times Gina had told stories about me.

Greg cleared his throat and suggested: “We all take a break. Maybe get some air.” His voice too loud in the quiet room.

Chapter 6: Empty Room

People started moving toward the door in this awkward shuffle. Not talking, just the sound of chairs scraping and feet on the floor. Within 2 minutes, the room emptied until it was just me and Gina sitting across from each other at a table covered in empty glasses and wadded-up napkins.

She looked at me with an expression I’d never seen on her face before. Something that looked like actual fear instead of her usual confidence. She asked why I would do this to her, and her voice was small and old.

I told her: “She did this to herself when she turned my suicide attempt into a comedy routine at my engagement party in front of 200 people.” The words came out flat and hard, and I watched her face crumple like paper.

She started crying, but not the dramatic way she usually cried when she wanted something. This was different, uglier, with her makeup running in black streaks down her cheeks. She said I’d ruined her reputation in the comedy community, that these people were her only friends, that I’d taken away the one thing that made her feel like she mattered.

I stood up while she was still talking and grabbed my jacket off the back of the chair. She kept saying my name, asking me to wait, to let her explain. But I walked out and left her sitting there alone.

The hallway outside the private room felt too bright and too quiet, and I could still hear her crying through the door. I didn’t feel as good about what I’d done as I thought I would. I just felt tired and mean and like I’d swallowed something sharp.