We only ever made it to second base, per my mother’s stringent seduction guidelines.Thank goodness for that at least.He cheated the entire time we were together. Not that I gave a flying crap. It kept him from pawing at me every chance he got. I shiver, recalling the many times he tried to force himself on me. Momma excused his behavior, asserting,“Boys will be boys.”It was a relief when he graduated from high school and went off to college.
“I have to pee.” Momma stands, swaying on her feet. “Tell that idiot to bring the check.”
“Okay,” I mumble and watch her stagger to the restroom.
Dear God, please, please, please let my short stay in Oregon be drama-free.
I have a gut feeling my prayers will go unanswered. We’ll be staying with Sheila, though she didn’t extend the invitation out of the kindness of her heart. It was for Grandma’s sake. Her health has been deteriorating for some time now, and the added stress of worrying about us hasn’t helped matters. My once lively grandmother spends most days in bed. Maybe her daughters’ temporary truce will help improve her condition. One can only hope.
Sheila and her husband, Keith, relocated to Oregon about a year ago. They met while living in Delaware and have been married going on two years now—give or take a few months. Of course,we weren’t invited to witness their special day. Keith works in banking and transferred to the West Coast office after getting a promotion. Sheila finally has everything she’s ever wanted. I’m thrilled for her, but Momma is green with jealousy.
“Excuse me,” I call out to Selene as she walks past the table. “We’re ready for the check.”
“Sure thing,” she replies. “Need any boxes?”
“No, we’re good. Thanks.” Momma only has a few bites left, and my roiling stomach can’t handle any more food.
“You’re welcome,” she says, collecting the dishes from the table. “Be back in a sec.”
“Wait.” I glance toward the restroom door before rummaging through my purse and plucking a twenty out of my wallet. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” Selene beams, stuffing the bill into her apron.
“Hey, you earned it.”And it’s the least I could do after my mother’s behavior.
That’s the last of my cash. I have sixty-four dollars left in my checking account, but that won’t last long. Finding a job sooner rather than later is paramount. Hopefully someone is willing to hire an eighteen-year-old with no work experience or references.Fingers crossed.
“Momma, please calm down,” I plead, clasping my sweaty palms together in an ironclad grip. “Maybe something came up. Unexpected things happen all the time.”
The drama floodgates crashed open the second our plane landed. Sheila and her husband were supposed to be our ride from the airport, but she texted Momma telling her they couldn’t make it. Thus, the ranting and raging began. My anxiety is skyrocketing.
I inhale deep, measured breaths to ease the tightness in my chest. This is so not the time to have a freakingasthma attack. I need to placate my mother before we get to my aunt’s house and all hell breaks loose.
Frank’s—our Uber driver—saucer-eyed gaze collides with mine in the rearview mirror. He’s probably thinking the mentally unstable lady forgot to take her daily crazy-people meds. I wish there were a reasonable explanation for her tirade, but entitlement is her only ailment, and there’s no treatment available for that.
I sigh, massaging my throbbing temples. Fantastic, the first stirrings of a headache. Soon the dull ache will develop into a full-blown migraine.
“I can’t wait to give that bitch and her dog-face husband a piece of my mind,” she rages on.
“Sheila is pregnant, remember? Maybe she isn’t feeling well and Keith is taking care of her,” I say, attempting to soothe her hurt pride. “Isn’t morning sickness rough during the first trimester?”
“Stop making excuses for her!” Momma shrills, her lips curling into a sneer. “She’s a vindictive whore and wants to lord it over me. Oh, but I’ll have the last laugh. Mark my words.”
Apprehension cramps my abdomen at her bitter declaration.
What havoc does my mother plan on causing?
The minivan comes to a sudden stop, and I frantically glance around, zooming in on the house number to my left.
Crap in a fucking handbasket. We’re here.
Momma is out of the minivan and jetting down the walkway in the blink of an eye.
“Momma!” I shout, running after her.
“Hey, a little assistance with the luggage, please,” Frank calls out to me. “These old bones can’t do too much heavy lifting nowadays.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” I hurry back and help the flustered driver unload our overstuffed suitcases onto the sidewalk.
