The Angel Goldfish Theory

angel goldfish: 04

CHAPTER FOUR

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Just like when I was a nine-year-old, I sat on the 3-seater couch, my knees together, my lips pursed, in front of Mom who was pacing back and forth in front of me wearing her office attire. There were two differences—Buffy was on my lap, and Dad wasn’t there to look at my face.

“At this point, Piper, I do not even know what to say to you.”

“Tell me I’m a disappointment, maybe,” I said. “That’s your favorite word.”

“Yeah,” she said, and my heart clenched. She stopped walking. “You’re right. A disappointment clearly defines you, Piper.”

I wanted to cry. “I know. You remind me every single day of my life.”

Mom sighed, and from my peripheral vision, I saw that she was rubbing her face using both palms. She sat on the same couch Dad used to sit on, and she placed her elbows on top of her knees, her face still into her palms.

“I-I swear . . . it was technically not my fault, is it? I mean, she was the one who ran wearing heels, Mom, she should’ve been smart en—”

“Do you realize how you sound right now, Piper?”

I looked down on Buffy, sleeping peacefully on my lap, and I ran my fingers through his soft fur.

“Ms. Harper is in there, in the hospital, a cast on her arm! Her right arm, Piper! Do you understand what you’ve done?”

“S-She shouldn’t have ran! It’s not my fault!” Buffy woke up at the sound of my yelling, and he jumped off my lap. I watched him make his way towards the kitchen, stupidly wanting him to come back because I didn’t want to be alone with Mom.

“Piper, that’s not the point!” Mom screamed and then she stood up. She leaned her face closer to me, which made me look away. “The point is how you always start this . . . mess! I don’t know what the hell you were doing under her goddamn table, why you wrote a murderer’s name on—”

“Mom, she’s not a murderer!”

“Oh, so we’re going to fight about this, too?”

“I’m going to bed,” I said and stood up. I hadn’t even taken three steps yet when she held my arm and made me sit again.

“No, Piper, you are not going to bed yet,” she said and I just sighed frustratingly. “What you’ve done is serious, and if it comes to the point where they would expel you and you would have to go to another school out of town, just know that that would not be my problem anymore. Alright? I have had enough, and you would be free to do all the bullshit you want to do, but you would never trouble me anymore, okay? Understand?”

I let silence sit for a while.

“You’re not even listening to me.”

“Listen to what? More excuses?”

“You just find it easier to be mad at me,” I said, and Mom tensed. “Right?”

Mom regained her composure and shot me a glare. “Watch what you say to me, Piper.”

I sat there in silence. I remember holding my breath, looking at our worn-out couch, the scratches Buffy made, the stain of soy sauce at the edges . . . and I realized that maybe my mother just hated me so much. I didn’t blame her. I hated me, too. But I was still upset.