“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.
She snatches the money from my fingers and stuffs it into the front pocket of her jeans. “I won’t refuse it.”
Great. Doesn’t even bother with a thank-you. She’s a real prize.
“Maybe I should stick around until Owen comes home.” Mom leans against the kitchen counter, trying her best for nonchalance. I know she’s really trying to get a rise out of me. Again. “I need to spend more time with my baby boy.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes but just barely. “He’s going to his friend’s house after school.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, he’s working on a class project with his friend after school. He won’t be home for hours.” I’m totally lying. They worked on the project last night. But I don’t want her lurking around here waiting for Owen and freaking him out. He’s uncomfortable around her.
Pretty sad when a kid doesn’t like being around his mother because she’s so removed from his day-to-day life.
“Great. So I’m not around, you’re not around, what kind of trouble is he getting into if we’re all too busy for him? Stupid kid,” she mutters, shaking her head.
That does it. How dare she criticize Owen? “He’s a child. What do you expect him to do if no one is around to supervise him?”
“Well, where are you?” she accuses.
“I’m working!” The words explode from my chest. “Where the hell are you? Oh, I know, you’re out drinking and doing drugs with your ass**le boyfriend. Maybe you’re sleeping in all day when you should be out hunting for a job? When you should be, you know, staying at home so you can be here for your son? Don’t blame me for your inadequacies as a mother. It’s not my fault you have better things to do.”