We don’t really have turns and I try to do the grocery shopping more often than not. The look on my mom’s face tells me she’s hip to my crap and doesn’t believe a word I’m saying.
Here’s the thing, I’m still living with her and even though I have a full-time job, she won’t accept any rent from me. The best I can do is go grocery shopping and pay one of the bills if Iget to the mail first. It doesn’t happen often. I swear the woman just knows when something has arrived. It’s like mail ESP or something.
She makes a sound with her mouth, almost a raspberry, definitely filled with displeasure. But there’s something else there too. Pride?
I wish she would let me help her out more. I’m not a child anymore. She raised me, and even though we didn’t have a lot of things some people had, we had more than enough. It never felt like I was missing out and it’s all because of her and how hard she works.
If only she’d let me take care of her. Just a little bit.
She’s been a nurse for decades and she’s beloved at the hospital; I know she would work herself into the ground. I’m not sure she’s entirely appreciated. But what can I do?
It’s not like I went off to school. I told mom it wasn’t what I wanted. It’s true, kind of. I would have gone to college, but there was no way to afford it. Maybe I can take some night classes here and there. I don’t know and I’m in no rush.
And at night I write my books as if they ever have a chance of being published.
“Did you get anything good?” She starts to peer through the cabinets and fridge while shooting me a look out of the side of her eye.
“I’m trying to eat better,” I remind her.
“Is that why there is so much lettuce and celery in here?” She closes the fridge and does a full body shiver which is unwarranted.
I stick my tongue out at her, and we both start to giggle. When we’ve calmed down, she leans against the counter as I get out what I need to make a PB&J.
“What are you up to tonight? Plans with Eliza, maybe?” There’s a hopeful note in her voice.
“No, she’s out living her life on the ranch,” I remind her. I can’t help but smile as I remember them at dinner. Eliza was proud, and Kendrick just wanted her to be happy. I’m happy for her.
She deserves it and with her parents turning their backs on her because she’s with him? I’ll never stand between her and what makes her happy.
“Just make sure you stay close. There are times when you need a friend, not a man. And the two of you have been like sisters since the moment you met,” her voice takes on a wistful quality as she stairs into the space between us.
“Don’t worry,” I assure her, “she’s not getting rid of me that easily. I’ll camp out on the ranch’s front yard if I have to. I have zero shame when it comes to my best friend.”
Mom smiles at me and then her eyes narrow and I brace myself. “Maybe it’s time for you to get out there,” she suggests and I’m a little shocked. “Maybe date?”
“I’m not sure who I would date around here, Mom,” I admit even though I know full well who I want too date.
The same man who asked me out today. I then effectively did a flyby, buzzed the tower, and bugged out.
I won’t be telling mom about any of that happening. No, she would tell me I should have said yes. I’m thinking I should have, now.
In the moment I panicked. What can I even say about it now? I sure as hell can’t go back and do it over.
Now I have to live with it, and I doubt Ford is going to ask me out again.
“What about you?” I tease her right back unwilling to recognize it as the deflection it is. “I don’t even know how long it’s been since you dated. Maybe it’s what you were doing when I had sleepovers at Eliza’s house?” I tease her.
Mom’s face goes pale and she straightens up. “No, I certainly was doing no such thing. I don’t really think that’s an appropriate question for you to ask, Arden.”
Her words are an admonishment, and I feel them down to my bones. She leaves the kitchen before I can begin to figure out what to say, my hand reaching for her even though she’s gone.
The sigh I let out is deep and full of something I will probably never give voice to. This is exactly why I wish she had gotten better help when she needed it. I don’t think she ever really moved on and still lives in fear.
She probably doesn’t even realize the way she’s transferred those fears to me. And her wariness toward men. And the underlying fear I’ll repeat her past as my fate.
But having a shelter or a center or something for women who need it is a dream I can’t imagine seeing realized. I wish I could. I wish it was here when mom needed it.
I hope it’s here, someday, for someone who is just trying to survive and needs a little help.
