A Walk by Dragons

A Call With Mom

Mom had that ultra-chipper voice she used whenever she tried to hide that she had been or would cry.

"So, how is it? Living with your dad."

I picked at some dead skin on my toe. Given the mood I was in, communicating with anyone, including her, sucked butt. She had called, though, and, well, no matter what happened, I loved her. I couldn't let her doubt that. Not while she lived with that brute. Even if I knew the end of this conversation would leave me burnt out and empty.

"Weird," I pulled my legs onto the green bean bag. "It's only been two days. We went out and bought books and had lunch at this hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint." I didn't tell her how Dad took whatever book I showed signs of liking off the shelf and into the basket. Since computer code manuals weren't exactly Barnes and Noble material, he bought me over twenty manga and classics. I liked my books on the extreme sides of the spectrum: on one end, comic books; on the other, Charlotte Bronte.

But talk about freaking uncomfortable. He didn't even glance at the price or set any budget. Not even an idiot could miss the sensation of being bought. What my dad was trying to buy from me, whether forgiveness or good parenting, was anyone's guess.

"What else have you done?"

"Um, well, he's mostly in his home office working or heading to his office in town. I haven't seen where he works yet. Mostly, I just hang out around the house and, you know, do what I normally do. Read. Program."

Mom gave a sour grunt. "Yep. That's basically what he did all our marriage too. Nice of him to get you books, though."

"He's got a cook who comes in the evening. But she doesn't really like to talk. She's usually too busy to."

"Well, don't worry, school starts tomorrow, and you'll make some friends. You always do... Julie missed you over the weekend. David even said the house felt weird without you."

Your point?

"Nice to know I'm loved."

"Of course, you're loved. And even if you don't think it, Chris loves you too."

Usually, I responded with 'I know,' but the words stuck in my throat like fat pills I'd tried to swallow dry.

She sighed at my silence. "I know. It's hard because you two have conflicting personalities. But I hope you'll come to forgive him one day. We all just need to be more Christ-like and forgive one another."

Something like bile stung the back of my throat, filling my mouth with acid. Curling out of that taste, like vile smoke, was my heart.

Conflicting personalities? Your husband told me I was a self-righteous idiot child who wasn't being anyone's friend when all I had been obsessing over the past few months was taking care of you and my siblings and doing the right thing. He said I would only be helping out if I left. And you helped him by contacting my dad and telling me it was probably best that I go. Never mind that I hadn't seen my dad since I was like, what, nine? He had given up all custody of me when he divorced you when I was two. I never raised my voice to Chris, I never picked a fight, I always kept my mouth closed just like you said—

"I know," I said, forcing myself to sound nonchalant. "Don't worry about it, Mom. Is Susan coming back?"

At the mention of my stepsister, she let out a long, heavy sigh that betrayed her attempts to sound like nothing was wrong. "Chris has gone to Idaho to talk to her mom about it, but...she probably just made up that story about David. Of course she did, David wouldn't do such a thing."

Since I'd never known a rapist, I couldn't say. I liked my stepbrother all right, but the whole situation made me feel a bit gutted, so I didn't know what I thought of it. All I knew was that the court could get involved by declaring that David couldn't share a room with anyone or be left alone with children. Learned something new with every trauma.

What it really meant was that there was no room for me. Five kids in a three-room apartment was awfully cramped, after all, and since my half-sister, Julie, lived with her dad most of the time, that just left me and my two brothers.

"Chris find work yet?" I asked, wanting to change the subject.

"Not yet." She gave another tired sigh. "I'm going to go take a nap now. I love you. Call me, okay?"

"I will. Bye."

I brought the phone down from my ear and stared at the blinking time of the call. She'd put up with all this, I knew. Any crap Chris or his kids could throw her way, she'd take it because Mom didn't want to be the kind of woman who jumped from guy to guy. She wanted to do love the right way. Chris was her fourth husband. She was determined to make it work, no matter what happened, and I understood. Really, I did. I got the self-loathing and longing to be in a place where no one could say she was selfish, lost, obsessed with sex, or had a bad taste in men.

She had enough on her plate without me adding to her problems with...whatever was wrong with me. Not to mention, I had always been afraid of what she'd say of the boy who still raided my phone with texts, mostly because she had a knack for being crass and painfully right and would probably tell me to run away from him as far as I could. But, since he had been the only breath of air I had during all this—the only one who saw me beneath the mess of sibling and parent drama...

No. What I was terrified of was being told I was just like her. I was afraid she'd relate to me.

Trying to swallow down the nasty something in my chest, I forced myself to close the phone on his texts. Because whatever my mom would have said about Skyler if she had known...would have been right.

___________________________________

I love it when my floors are freshly cleaned. It's a pet peeve of mine to have dirty feet.