“Sweetie. I’ve been meaning to call you.” Her sickly-sweet tone sends goosebumps across my skin. She gazes at me with bulging blue eyes. “I know we had plans for tonight, but I need to cancel. I’m not feeling well.”
More like she’s not feeling high. Crossing my arms, I lean against the kitchen counter. I might as well make myself comfortable for another round of disappointment. I thought it would be different this time between us. I thought she would be different.
Stupid Chloe. When will you ever learn?
She rattles on, taking my silence as acceptance. “I’m in a tough spot. See, I owe Ralph some money, and you know how he gets when I don’t pay him.”
“Rough and handsy?”
Ralph is the reason my social worker revoked my mom’s custody. When my mom’s boyfriend wasn’t heavy-handed with Mom, he was creepy with me. The social worker pulled me out of the house and determined Mom could try again in a few years if she worked on herself and ditched her boyfriend. Mom decided Ralph being her usual drug supplier served a greater benefit than the fat check she received from the government for half-ass parenting. That is if someone could call leaving me to fend for myself in a roach-infested apartment parenting.
She scoffs. “I wouldn’t ask you for money if I didn’t need it.”
“No, Mom. You would ask. That’s our problem. Every time I give you money, you promise to pull yourself together.” And every time you say you’ll get clean, I fall for it because I still can’t move past my stupid hopeful mindset.
She tugs her cracking lip between her teeth. “I’m sorry. You know how I am.”
“A liar?”
Her laugh borders on cackling. “Oh, Chloe. Don’t be that way.”
“Truthful?”
It seems like her mood appears to take a turn for the worst as her eyes darken. “Snappy comments are cute for picking up boys, but they lose their charm when used against your mother.”
I release a tense breath from my lungs. “I don’t have money.”
“You’re lying. It’s the end of the month. You’re the responsible type with your bills.”
Of course, she would come on payday. How could I have been this dense to think she wanted to actually see me on my birthday? “No. I’m not lying.”
“Just give me three-hundred dollars and I’ll leave. That’s all I need.” She chews on a ragged nail.
“No.”
My mother’s eyes dart from me to my purse hanging on a hook by the door. The very purse that houses my monthly rent payment.
“Don’t even think about it.” I mean to snap, but my voice is nothing but a hoarse whisper. Please, don’t think of stealing from me. I’m your daughter, for God’s sake. My throat tightens at the idea.
“You don’t understand. The spasms are getting worse without my stuff.” She makes her addiction to opioids sound like a casual need for ice cream. It’s always been this way, with her craving her stuff more than she craves being a mother.
“You promised to quit.” My voice rasps, sadness eating away at my faux coldness.
She sneers, her patience apparently thinning. “Yeah, well, I lied. I’m sorry. I did try, but it was terrible. I can’t live without it.”
Even though I spent most of my life listening to sweet lies and empty apologies, the words still sit heavy in my chest every time she says them. It’s like I’m taken back to the time I was a little girl.
I’m sorry I didn’t show up for today’s session with the therapist, Chloe. I’ll come next week, I swear.
I’m sorry Ralph walked in while you were showering. You know how he forgets to knock on the door.
I’m sorry I missed Christmas this year. I got tied up, but I’ll make it up to you next time.
Mom takes advantage of my distraction and rushes toward my purse. I grab onto the hem of her shirt to pull her back, and she spins around. The crack of her palm hitting the skin of my cheek echoes off the paint-peeled walls.
She actually fucking hit me. Me, a goddamned adult. I step back and press my palm against my stinging cheek. The rush of pumping blood fills my ears, making it hard to hear her.
Mom searches my purse like a woman possessed. She whimpers as she finds my wallet and snatches the bills in her bony fingers. Her greedy hands clutch onto more than three-hundred dollars, but I do nothing to stop her. I’m too stunned at the animal she reverts to when she doesn’t get her drugs. How does she stand looking at herself in the mirror? I’m surprised her skin doesn’t crawl off her body in a repulsive rebellion.