That bitch abandoned me. She left me with dad. I grew up to become a killer
because of her. My hands were stained with blood that would never wash off. She
ran away like the coward she was. I stepped forward and Graycen came out of the
shadows. He put a hand on my shoulder.
“I told her to come,” he said.
“How dare you!”
“You two should talk,” he said.
“Not here,” I said. I belatedly realized how scared I sounded. I could
deal with dad. He was predictable. I knew what mood he was in based on the
redness of his eyes and how he slurred his words. Mom was a tornado trapped in
a person. She was sudden, fast, and destructive. My hand drifted towards my
waist as if my taser was there. Damn. My toolbelt was sitting in the kitchen.
Graycen caught my hand and whispered in my ear.
“She has cancer.”
I knew my mom. I knew she liked him better, but how could she not tell
her own son that she was dying? Would I always be second to Graycen? Even when
we were little, my mom paid more attention to Graycen than me. It was as if
Graycen was her son. Maybe she wanted that to happen. Did she feel dissatisfied
with me? Did she love me? No. She didn’t. A real mother would’ve taken her
child with her, not abandoned them to their alcoholic father. A real mother
would not let her child be raised by fists, bottles, and chain-link fences.
“Hello Daniel,” mom said. She slowly stepped towards me and wrapped her
arms around my body. When had she gotten so thin? Her usual round, stubby frame
was thin and wiry. She held my face as if I was the one who was going to die.
“You still dress like a biker,” she said. Were those tears shimmering in
her eyes? Was she happy to see me?
We sat down on the couch. Chantel moved into the bedroom. Graycen and
Ella brought two mugs of tea before Graycen ushered Ella outside. The car
engine started and I was sure he took Ella out for a hot-fudge sundae complete
with a warm brownie. Mom wrapped her hands around the mug as if she hadn’t had
a hot beverage in long time. She blew on the curls of steam. Her lips were
chapped and her nails were sharp and crooked.
“Is that your kid? The girl?” she asked.
“Not biologically, but yeah she’s mine,” I said.
She nodded. “That’s good. You picked up some whore’s kid. She probably
has herpes.”
I hated my mother. “Why would you say something like that mom?”
“I’m just looking out for you. Single women with children are never
good. They lie, cheat, steal, and only want money.”
“You just described yourself.”
“Daniel, watch your tone,” mom said.
“Sorry mother,” I said. I bit my lip. Damn. Every time.
“Children are burdens, Daniel. They cost money and time and effort. I’m
just looking out for you. You’ve never wanted children. They are a permanent
decision you can’t take back.”
“You’re one to talk. You don’t know the first thing about me,” I
muttered.
She had never known what I wanted. Did she actually have cancer? Or did
she lie to Graycen? My heart hammered so hard I thought I was going to pass
out.
“I heard about your conversation with your father,” she said. Her voice
was soft. She put her hand on my knee.
“How do you feel about it?” I asked.
She was silent for so long that the silence
stretched and twisted. It filled the space between us and threatened to choke
whatever words escaped my throat.
“I’m disappointed you couldn’t get rid of him,”
mom said.
What did she just say to me? My coward,
fearful, pathetic mother was disappointed in me? She was out of
her mind. The same woman who ran away and left me with a criminal and was too
much of a spineless creature to take me with her, was angry that I still kept
in contact with my father?
Thunder crackled and the rain drummed on the
roof. Ella left her yellow umbrella in the corner. The rain drops slowly slid
down the crevices in the fabric. It was the closest sharp object. Mom’s anger
wrapped around my neck like a noose. Her constant disappointment in me was
demoralizing. She loved Graycen more than me. I wanted her dead.
“It doesn’t matter anyways. I’ll be dead soon
enough,” she said.
“Is the cancer that bad?” I asked.
“It’s stage three.”
“What type?”
A different silence slipped between us. It
buzzed like a curious bee.
“Does it matter?”
“I guess not.”
The silence stopped buzzing and solidified.
This was real. My mom was dying. Why didn’t I care?
She reached out to touch me and static shocked
my hand. She recoiled.
“Sorry,” she said.
She wrung her hands in her lap. Rain splashed
against the windows.
“I’m sorry you have cancer, mom,” I said.
“I’m glad. I don’t have to witness the mockery
you’ve made of your life,” she said.
“Could you for once, say that you’re proud of
me, or that you care, or anything remotely nice?”
“Why? It’s not true,” she said.
“Maybe you deserve to die.”
“Saying that someone deserves to die is
ridiculous. We’re all going to die eventually whether or not we deserve to. Hand
me a cigarette, will you?”
“I stopped smoking.”
“Liar,” mom smiled.
I sighed and fished the pack out of my pocket.
As the puffs of nicotine and tar rose up and disappeared into the ceiling, I
wondered if she loved me as much as I hated her.