I peeked around the corner. “I’m going to spend the weekend at Allison’s.”
Mom sighed. “That’s fine, honey. You’ll be home Sunday?”
“Yep.”
“All right. Well, maybe next week you and I can have an old-fashioned girls’ night? Like how we used to?”
I studied my mother and how rough she looked. The hickeys on her neck. Her knotted, disheveled hair. The way her shoulders slouched as she sat at the kitchen table, pouring beer into her fucking coffee. I came around the corner and went to sit beside her. Something was off. Something didn’t feel right. And while I wanted to turn down the invite to her version of a girls’ night, I also didn’t want to leave her like this.
“Mom?”
She slowly looked over at me and I saw how tired she looked. The bags underneath her eyes. The pallor of her skin. Her trembling hand brought her mug of coffee to her lips, where she chugged a little too hard and a little too long. I placed my hand on her shoulder and she flinched, which told me everything I needed to know.
And when she finally faced me, I saw the blackened expanse of her right eye.
I sighed. “Oh, Mom.”
She patted my hand. “Yeah, an old-fashioned girls’ night soon. Okay?”
“Promise you won’t invite D.J.?”
And even though she nodded, I knew she was lying. It didn’t matter how many times her boyfriend smacked her around. Or made her cry. Or made her feel worthless. Whenever she wanted to spend time with me, he inevitably showed up. She always broke down and called him back. Begged for him to come over so she could ‘make things right.’
Which was the reason I always kept earplugs on my bedside table.
I stood up, kissing her cheek as a shudder left her lips. She was holding back tears, and it broke my heart. Because no matter what kind of shit my mother got herself into, she was still my mother. And she’d been through hell all her life. Starting with her own parents, who’d routinely slapped her around. Followed by my father, who proposed when they got pregnant w
ith me, only to jump ship when I was only three years old. The string of boyfriends she’d had over the years were varying degrees of the same. A cokehead that got her addicted before she finally let him go. A rehab facility coordinator who ended up being the reason she got clean. And who ended up being married. A string of one-night stands that introduced me to so many sexual things a teenager should never have been exposed to.
And now? D.J.
The man who paid some of our bills in exchange for my mother’s soul.
“Please take care of yourself,” I whispered against her ear.
She nodded. “You know I always do. No matter what, I’ll always do my best to take care of you.”
“You’re important too, Mom. Always remember that.”
“I miss you, you know.”
“Well, then maybe we’ll have that girls’ night soon.”
Mom smiled softly. “You know, D.J.’s not really that bad.”
I sighed. “I’m sure he isn’t, Mom.”
“And he takes care of us. He’s the reason why we only have to choose one bill to ignore a month. Not the multiple ones, like we used to do.”
I nodded. “I know, Mom. I know. And I miss you, too. But I have to go. I’m going to be late for school.”
I rubbed her back as I tried to process everything. I never could tell my mother how much I missed her without getting angry with her. And I felt myself growing very upset very quickly. Without trying to hold her accountable for her actions throughout the years. While the rational part of me knew she kept trying her hardest, the other part of me wondered why the fuck she always had to try it with guys. Why not get a job on her own? It wasn’t like I couldn't fend for myself. Why not take out some loans? Get a technical degree? Make something of herself instead of hopping from man to man, hoping he’d swoop in and free us from this bondage?
I mean, I was familiar with the books my mother read. Books that were passed down to her through trash cans and bags dropped all around our street. Our neighborhood was practically a rich person’s dump, and I’d caught my mother many times opening up trash bags to dig around and see what was inside.
Mom cleared her throat. “You need any lunch money, beautiful?”
I shook my head. “Nope. I’ve got my own.”