Ripped [TO BE PUBLISHED 2016]

32

There's a soft knock on the door. I freeze, hoping it's just my imagination. I have a tendency to do that. Imagine the worst. But also life had a lovely way of affirming the worst.

"Aspen? Honey?" Dammit. Not my imagination. "Can we talk?"

I shake my head. I want to scream. I want to throw something at her, hard. I want to leave. I want to run away.

"Yeah. Sure," I end up saying.

"Can you unlock the door?" She jiggles the knob a bit for emphasis.

"Yeah." Stand up, but don't move any closer. "Sure," I repeat. My head is pounding. What does she want? She hasn't yelled at me for hours. Hasn't cussed, hasn't brought a new guy home since I crashed her last dinner date. It's like she cares. Finally. All of the sudden. I don't like it.

When we were a real family a long time ago, my mother would tell my fairy tales about falling in love. My dad worked in the same building as she did, working in business or telecommunications or wherever they ended up. He heard her voice on the phone and he was wrapped around her finger in an instant. He had to meet her. They met, he asked her out to dinner, and they fell in love.

Soon they were drinking wine together on their living room couch. They had a dog, Norman. And on the way was the perfect little girl.

It was easier to believe when daddy was alive, before mother sold her body for money, before we moved here, before...

I move closer towards the door. My hand covers the cold metal knob. My fingers trace the outline of the lock slowly, but they don't move to unlock it. Not yet. On the other side my mother is waiting, wanting to talk about god knows what. It isn't a door I particularly want to open.

"Honey?" my mom says, her voice floating through the walls.

"Yeah." With a flick of my wrist the door is open. She stands there waiting. There is no turning back now.

She swallows, but steps in and smiles like she doesn't even notice. She sits at the edge of my bed, and pats the place next to her, signaling for me to join her. I sit as far away from her as I can. A month or two of peace means nothing. I don't trust her.

"I have something to tell you," she says softly. I close my eyes. Wish I could close my ears. "Something to tell me"s are never a good thing. She pauses, inhales, pauses again. Her mouth opens and closes.

"What, mother?"

"I'm pregnant." It comes fast and hard out of nowhere. I feel like I've been punched in the gut. "And I'm getting remarried. And, my fiancé is moving in with us, within the next week or so."

I want to scream. I want to shake her. She slept with more guys than I can count on two hands, probably while she was dating this dude. She ignored me for three years. She yelled at me, told me how worthless I was. She doesn't deserve love. Not the forever kind. Not the married kind. Not the moving-into-our-house-within-the-next-week kind.

Not to mention her status as an alcoholic. And bitchy one at that.

But I don't say any of that. "How long?" I whisper.

"I've known for about a month now. I...I started doing the twelve step program. I'm sober. This baby means a lot to me. Levi has another daughter too. I'm hoping we can be a real family."

It makes sense. With me, she screwed up. My life already sucks. It's not her job to make it better. But with a new man and a new daughter, she can fix things. She can redeem herself.

"What about me?"

"What do you mean, what about you? This isn't about you. Why can't you just be happy for me?" Her voice rises an octave, but she isn't yelling. Not yet. That's always a good sign.

"No, I'm happy for you." I plaster on a smile. She gives me a quick pat on the back. I hadn't gotten a real hug in years.

"Thank you, Aspen. Well, I'm off to see Levi. I love you." She stands up and shuts the door behind her.