And my brother’s friends aren’t real prizes either. I remember the boys I knew in junior high. Hell, the girls too. I was just as bad. We all stole like crazy, lifting makeup and candy from the local supermarket. Freaking stupid.
Imagine my surprise when I stop in my doorway to find it’s my mom in my room, going through the jumble of stuff that litters the top of my dresser. Resting my hands on my hips, I clear my throat and she gasps, whirling on me with her hand pressed against her chest.
“Fable! When did you get home?” She fans her hand in front of her face like she’s some Southern belle about to faint in the wretched heat. “You scared the life out of me.”
“Good.” I flick my chin in her direction. “What are you doing in here?”
She sneers at me, the Southern belle act evaporating like smoke. “No, ‘Hi, Mom, how are you?’ Since when did you get so rude?”
“About the same time you started neglecting us completely.” I enter my room, already weary with the fight. My high has come crashing down and I’m left facing the reality that is my shitty relationship with my no-good mother. “Why are you going through my stuff?”
“I lost something.” She tilts her nose in the air, a sure sign she’s lying. “A ring of mine has gone missing.”
Like I’d steal her crappy jewelry. “What are you trying to say?”
“Did you take it?”
“Why would I take your old-ass jewelry?” She’s probably pawned or sold everything off anyway. She has nothing of any value anymore. I don’t have anything either, but I never really did.
I do have a stash of tip money in my room, though. Hidden in a sweater pocket deep in my closet.
“Christ, you’re a brat,” Mom mutters, shaking her head as she starts for the door. “Can’t even have a decent conversation with me.”
“You just can’t barge into my room and go through my things,” I call after her. She needs to know her boundaries. More than anything, she needs to know she’s not welcome in here.
“I can too.” She turns on me, her expression indignant, her green eyes, so much like mine though a little faded and a lot jaded, blaze fire as she glares at me. “This is my apartment. The lease is in my name. I own all of this stuff. I bought everything in here for you. If I want to go through it, I have every right.”
“Give me a break. The furniture is hand-me-downs from relatives and friends. All the stuff in here, the clothes and the cheap jewelry and everything you see?” I wave my fingers around. “I bought it with money I earned. And your name may be on the lease, but I’m the one who pays all the bills every month. So don’t act like a righteous bitch who can take everything from me just because you’re my mom. I’m an adult. You don’t own me.”
I release a shuddering breath, surprised at my outburst. I can’t believe what I just said to her. I’ve been holding that in for months. Hell, for years. And now I’m so angry, I’m literally shaking.
Where’s Drew’s miracle shrink when I need her?
“How dare you talk to me like that?” Mom whispers, her voice rough, her jaw tight. “You are the most ungrateful child ever. Fine, if you’re such a high and mighty princess who can support yourself without me, then go find your own damn place to live.”
“I’ve been thinking you should be the one to leave instead. You can’t afford this place on your own and you know it. You don’t even have a job. At least I pay the rent and take care of Owen.” I hate her. I didn’t realize the depths of my hatred for her but this conversation, everything she’s saying, how she’s acting, it all seals the deal.
She’s awful. A spiteful woman who couldn’t give a crap about me or Owen. All she cares about is herself.
“You can’t kick me out of my own house.” She straightens her shoulders and pushes her bleached blonde hair away from her face. My mom looks tired. Old. Small and mean. Her eyes are hazy and I wonder if she’s drunk. Or high.
She disgusts me. I can hardly stand looking at her. Yet…I also feel sorry for her. She’s my mom. Only forty-two years old and look at her, with her crappy life and her crappy boyfriend, going nowhere fast. I’ve been scared for years I’ll end up exactly like her.
But I’m nothing like her. I have ambitions and dreams. I’m just putting them on hold until Owen’s old enough to take care of himself.
“Go back to Larry’s, Mom. Go stay there and leave Owen and me alone, okay? Do you need money? Is that why you’re digging around my room? I’ll give you money. Just…let us be.” I go to the kitchen where I left my purse on the counter and dig through it, finding my wallet and pulling out a wad of dollar bills from last night’s tip money. “Is this what you were looking for?” I ask her when she follows me into the kitchen, holding the cash out toward her.