Yet it didn’t change the truth of who we were to each other.
So here we were, years later, living on the edges of each other’s lives for the sake of a relationship we had never had. For the sake of a girl we both loved.
For Charlotte we tried as much as we were able. Even if deep down we had given up on each other a long time ago.
To feel an emotional alienation from a parent was depressing. Particularly when it wasn’t intentional. Maybe that’s what made it worse.
So hearing her voice on the other side of the door was jarring. She had been to my house only a handful of times since I had moved in three years ago. She lived on the other side of town in the same house I had grown up in.
If I needed to see her, I went there. She didn’t enter my space. It was an unspoken understanding.
Unless the visit was prearranged.
Surprise visits didn’t sit well with me.
Ever.
They weren’t conducive to my secretive second life.
“Mom. What are you doing here?” I asked, blocking the entryway into my house. She pushed past me anyway.
Her face was flushed and her hair was sticking out in all directions, as if she had just stood for a period of time in a wind tunnel. She exuded a frantic energy that put me immediately on edge.
“I’m on my way to see Charlotte. I hoped you’d come with me. It would be nice to see her together, don’t you think?” She dropped her purse on the floor of the living room and immediately started a close inspection of everything.
That was another reason I made sure never to invite her over. The nosiness.
“Why didn’t you call?” I asked. It sounded like an accusation. It was.
I took the throw pillows from my mother’s hands and put them back on the couch. She was touching too many things. It bothered me.
“I tried. You didn’t answer.”
I picked up my phone and saw that she had indeed tried to call me. Four times. I had put the phone on silent last night when I was working on the new SQL coding.Damn it.
“I planned to go see Charlotte this week.” I tried not to scream as she wiped a finger along the edge of the television, inspecting for dust.
“How long have you lived here?” Mom asked, ignoring my statement. She was frowning, chewing on her bottom lip, her eyes troubled.
“Three years. But Mom, you can go on. I’ll see Charlotte later—”
“Three years?” Her eyes widened incredulously.
“Yes, three years.” I followed her as she walked into the kitchen, her hand hovering over my laptop keyboard. I quickly reached around her and slammed the lid.
“It’s time you added a picture or two to the walls, don’t you think? It’s rather dull.” Mom glanced around the room, her mouth pinched in criticism.
“I’m not really into clutter.” I trailed after my mother as she made her way back into the living room. “Like I said, I’ll see Charlotte next week—”
“Can I have a glass of water? I’m parched,” Mom interrupted, putting a hand to her throat dramatically.
I sighed but nodded. “Sure.”
When I came back with the glass of water I found my mother looking through my mail. “Find anything interesting?” I asked drily, handing her the glass and taking the stack of bills from her hand.
Mom took a sip, looking at me over the rim of her cup. “Come with me to see Charlotte,” she tried again.
“I’ll see her in a few days,” I countered.
