Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
“Are you hungry?” I asked, handing her a pair of slippers from my hall closet.
“Yeah, I could eat,” she said, taking the slippers. “Thanks.”
Now that I was closer to her, I picked up on her smell. Between that and the stringy, oily look of her hair, I knew it had been a while since she last showered.
“How did you get here?” I asked her.
“Took a bus.”
She was pulling off her socks, which were soaking wet. Questions I couldn’t ask flew through my mind.
What the hell are you doing here? Why didn’t you call first? Don’t you have any other place to go? How long are you staying?
“Looks like you’re having a comfy Christmas,” she said, standing up. “That’s the way to go. Christmas is just something stores make into a big deal so people will spend a bunch of money on stuff they don’t need.”
I felt that in the pit of my stomach, because she’d said it to me as a kid to explain why she didn’t get me any presents. No one had the power to upset me the way my mom did, and I was already on the brink today. I had to stay focused on the things I could control and not let my emotions take over.
“I’ll make you a grilled cheese and some soup,” I said.
“You always did make the best grilled cheese sandwiches,” she said. “Your place looks nice, Shelby.”
“Thanks.”
I’d learned to make a grilled cheese by the time I was five, because I knew I could stretch a loaf of bread and a package of cheese into several meals. Once I moved in with my grandparents, though, I hadn’t ever eaten a grilled cheese again. It reminded me of times I wanted to forget.
Part of me hated myself for not slamming the door in her face the moment I recognized her. She’d been a terrible mother. Bipolar disorder was part of it, but she was also a selfish person who made bad choices and didn’t care how they’d affected me.
“So what have you been up to?” she asked, sitting down at my kitchen table.
For the past three years? She only reached out to me when she needed something. Last time she’d been here, she wanted my help because she was being sued for unpaid rent and damages to an apartment she’d ditched. Somehow, the landlord had managed to track her down and have her served, which was an accomplishment in itself. She hadn’t shown up for the hearings and he’d been granted a judgment against her. Not surprisingly, she didn’t care until her tax return was garnished to pay what she owed.
“You’ve always been smart and you’re a lawyer now,” she had said. “I need you to help me get my tax refund back.”
I’d told her that not only was it was too late, but that I didn’t practice law in New Mexico, where the judgment had been entered. She’d left pissed off and I hadn’t seen her since.
With everyone else, I was a strong, direct communicator. I stated my boundaries. But with my mother, I was a kid again, silently along for the roller-coaster ride that was her life.
“Just work,” I said in answer to her question. “What about you?”
“Oh, you know me. Never a dull moment.”
I set the sandwich in front of her and she brushed her long bangs away from her eyes, smiling as she looked up at me. “No pickles?”
She’d always liked it when I put sandwich-sliced pickles in her grilled cheese sandwiches. I felt a flare of aggravation at our role reversal; moms were supposed to be the ones making the sandwiches.
“I don’t have any,” I said, turning my back and going to the sink to clean up.
“This is a great sandwich,” she said, and I bristled.
I knew her. Compliments were only offered as a means of buttering me up before asking for something. Deep down, I knew it would be money. And I was ashamed of the part of me that wanted to write her a check just so she’d go away peacefully.
“Hey, can I crash here tonight?” she asked. “I’m in between places right now.”
Was that the favor? I didn’t like having her here, but if it was a matter of sleeping here for a night and leaving tomorrow, I’d survive.
“Sure,” I said, turning to face her. “You look tired from the trip and I’m sure a shower would warm you up, so why don’t you take a shower after this and you can sleep in the guest room. There are towels in the closet outside the bathroom and the guest room is the one with the bed made.”
“You’re pretty, you know. You could get a boyfriend if you’d clean yourself up and try.”
I ignored her, leaving the kitchen and walking into the living room. I grabbed a book from my bookshelf, making sure it wasn’t one about pregnancy, and sat down on the couch. The last thing I wanted was for my mom to know I was pregnant.