For December, I created a pine tree skyline with snow falling in the background. I liked to add twinkling stars too. Maybe this year I’d draw decorated Christmas trees instead.
I loved everything art related, so this was one of my favorite projects each year.
Sifting through the old boxes in the back of the coffee shop, I looked for my painting supplies. As I searched, I heard a knockon the front door. It was after hours, so someone knocking was weird.
Hesitantly, I made my way to the front of the shop, peeking around the corner to see who was at the door before they could see me.
“Mom?” I said, walking toward the door to unlock it. “It’s too cold to be outside without a sweater on. What are you doing here so late?” I asked as I ushered her through the front door into the warmth.
“I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by,” she said cheerfully, taking a seat at one of the tables.
I watched her every move as I made my way behind the counter.
“Do you want some coffee?” I said finally.
“Sure, that would be great, honey. Put a splash of cream in there for me, please,” she said, looking the coffee shop over.
It had been at least two years since she’d been in here which made my already heightened senses even higher.
Addicts usually came around only when they need something. My mom always had an ulterior motive for coming to see me when she was using again.
She barely had any clothes on—only a pair of faded blue jeans and a thin long-sleeve shirt that looked like it hadn’t seen a washing machine in weeks. She was wearing flip-flops in fifty-degree weather.
The innocent little girl version of Cassie inside me always hated seeing my mom like this. It left me confused and sad for her. In these moments, I always wanted to help her. To pull her out of this deep, dark place she had found herself in.
But adult Cassie knew there was no fixing her. There was no helping an addict who didn’t want to change. Over the years, I had built walls around my heart and become numb to it. That was the only way I could survive the pain of watching my dadwalk out and my mom become a shell of the person she used to be.
But in the end, it all still sucked—no matter how good I had gotten at building walls.
“How’s your new job been going?” I asked as I handed her a cup of black coffee with a splash of creamer, just like she wanted.
“It’s okay,” she said, sipping on the hot coffee. “My boss is a hard-ass though. I missed a couple days last week because I was sick, and he wrote me up.”
Was she really sick?
Or was she recovering from an all-night bender?
Maybe that was harsh, but being naïve only got you so far with an addict—mother or not.
“Did you get the flu? I’ve heard it’s going around early this year,” I asked, knowing she’d either blame the flu or conjure some other bullshit lie.
“I’m not sure. You know I don’t like doctors, so I never went and got checked out.”
Except when they’re prescribing you pills. Then you love them.
“Anyways, I thought I’d stop by and see how you were doing. When I called the other night you seemed tired. I always worry about you. You work so hard and never take time for yourself,” she said, looking around the coffee shop.
“You know how I am, Mom. I like to keep my hands busy. Keeps my mind off stuff.”
“What stuff are you talking about?” she asked, taking another sip of coffee.
Was she serious right now?
“Just life, that’s all,” I replied, deciding at the last second that yelling at her about all my childhood trauma was probably not the road to go down right now.
“You act like you had it so hard growing up,” she said, sitting up straighter now, on the defense.
Here we go.
