“Need a ride back to town, Jess?”
“No thanks. I’ll take my chances in the cold.”
“It’s freezing out. Who knows when another car will be alone.”
“You’re just going to drive me back to the house and I don’t want anything to do with that place,” I huffed.
This town was too small to avoid running into my family members every once in a while. I hated that it had to be like this.
“Jess, come on. You can’t still be mad at us.”
“I can.”
“Stop being stubborn and get in the car. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
I got into the car, wondering the entire time if I’d regret it.
“Are you drinking?” I asked her as I entered the passenger seat.
“I’m six months sober, actually. If you’d bothered to call, you’d know.”
“You know why I don’t call.”
“Yeah. I do.”
My mother pulled off the shoulder and sped down the highway. Her face was more wrinkled than I remembered and while she still smelled of tobacco, I had to admit that there wasn’t the familiar smell of liquor that followed her wherever she went. Her black hair was in two traditional braids in front of her and her eyes were still black and sad, but with a little more light behind them than the last time I’d seen her.
“I’m leaving your father, Jess,” she announced after a few more minutes of silence on my part.
“Good for you.”
“I’ve been getting clean, getting sober. I want to be a good mother to your sisters.”
“I wish you’d wanted to be a good mother tome.”
I couldn’t avoid lashing out at her. I’d spent years being the good daughter and never speaking up about the way she treated me, about the way she’d let my asshole dad use me and her as a punching bag. It was all well and good that she was getting sober, but that ship had sailed. I’d been on my own for too long.
“I know. I know I wasn’t the best mother. But I need your help, Jess. For them.”
“I should have known you’d need something.”
“Please. In all the time we’ve fought, I’ve never asked you for anything. I understand why you don’t trust me, I understand why you’re angry, but I need you.”
“I live in a trailer with junkies and hookers. What could I possibly do to help you?”
“I need money for the divorce.”
“How much.”
“$13,000.”
“Jesus Christ, Ma.”
“It’s state law. He hasn’t committed adultery, we’ve got kids.”
“Why don’t you split the cost.”
“He doesn’t want to. He says if I want to leave him, I’ve got to want it bad enough to come up with the money,” she said.
