I laughed. “Every animal in the state did piss in it. Do you remember when he and Greg got the badger in the back seat?”
“No, the time they had the two swans...”
And that was how it went for the rest of the drive. My abs hurt from laughing, and for the first time since Greg died, the tears in my eyes weren’t from crying.
Jolene
It was late when I heard the front door open, but not as late as I was expecting. I was normally dead asleep by the time Mom got home from a date with Tom, but they’d been gone only a couple hours. I was still finishing the last few bites of the early individual-size birthday cake—pineapple upside-down—that Mrs. Cho had left me along with her thoughts on the most recent films I’d suggested to her—she’d gotten the bittersweet coming-of-age brilliance ofThe Way, Way Backbut couldn’t get past that scene inPlanes, Trains and Automobileswhere Steve Martin lays into the lady from the car rental place. The cake was supposed to be for tomorrow, but I hadn’t been able to wait. And Mom’s unexpected appearance meant I didn’t have time to wash the caramel off the plate. It didn’t matter that I could shove the rest of the cake in my mouth. She’d know. I decided to enjoy my cake, because I was going to pay for it one way or another.
I was lifting a bite to my mouth when Mom entered the kitchen. She froze like she’d walked in on me snorting a line of cocaine off the countertop, which I guess, in her mind, might have been the less grievous action. If I was on drugs, she could send me to rehab. The same couldn’t be said about consuming processed sugar.
I took in the mascara streaks under her red eyes and knew that I’d made the wrong decision by not hiding my cake—and myself. This wasn’t going to be a film starring movie-studio Mom. This was going to be the underground, black-market edition that only the most twisted people would watch.
I had no choice but to costar.
“Don’t,” she said, raising a shaking hand in my direction.
I took the bite.
She screamed, smacked the plate away from me, and threw it into the sink so hard that it shattered.
I turned my fork over to lick the other side clean.
She pulled it from my mouth with enough force that one of the prongs sliced the inside of my lip. I tasted blood.
“It’s a cake. Why are you acting like this?”
“It isnota cake. It is poison that makes you fat.”
“Well, it was delicious.”
One eye twitched. “You think I didn’t look like you when I was your age? That I couldn’t eat garbage all the time? Well, I did until one day, bam!” She clapped her hands in front of my face and I flinched back. “I’m a fat middle-aged woman whose husband is screwing his personal trainer!”
“Can you stop telling the same story over and over again? None of that has anything to do with your size, because he would have done it anyway. Plus, he’s not your husband anymore, and his personal trainer has a name—Shelly.”
It felt as if my eyes opened twice as wide as hers. The pineapple upside-down cake in my stomach tried to turn itself into a right-side-up cake. I didn’t care about Shelly. I hated Shelly. She was awful, and she’d used our former friendship to get to my dad. I didn’t understand how my brain and my mouth could have become so disconnected, but I didn’t have time to think about it, because Mom took a step back from me.
“How could you say her name to me?”
And just like that, I was done. She was supposed to come home from her bad date, see me sneaking my birthday cake, and shake her head as she smiled. She was supposed to slip off her heels, grab a fork, and dig in with me. We could have laughed together, talked together, and when the cake was gone she could have hugged me, and told me she loved me, and that she was sorry for all the times she’d let me think she didn’t.
That was what Adam’s mom would have done. For his birthday, she’d probably fill their kitchen with cakes and hug him once for every year that he’d been alive. She wouldn’t just tell him how much she loved him, she’d show him over and over again, and he’d never spend a single sleepless night counting all the things that were wrong with him.
He’d never feel like he wasn’t enough.
Like he was the reason everyone was miserable.
Like his mom was unhappy because of him.
“Because it doesn’t matter if I say Shelly’s name. And it doesn’t matter if I eat a birthday cake for my birthday made by someone who actually cares about me. I don’t care what size I am. Why do you care more about what I eat than how I feel? Why can’t you care about me,me?” I said, pressing my fingers into my sternum. “Not how you can use me to hurt Dad or make you look good in front of Tom or—” I scoffed “—how the two of you can use me to spy on Dad and get you more money. For what? Will money make you happy? You weren’t happy when you were married and had Dad’s money. You’ve never been happy with me, and judging from the makeup you’ve cried off, Tom isn’t making you happy either. So, what do you want, Mom, because it looks like the only thing that makes you happy is when other people feel worse!”
And still, after saying all of that, there was a stupid speck of hope beating in my chest that wanted her to shake her head, to gasp and realize with a shock that although she’d been hurting me all these years, she hadn’t meant to. That hope imagined a scene in which she’d fall down in front of me, hugging me and begging me to forgive her.
It could have been the ultimate climax, with swelling music and an unsteady, handheld camera capturing it all.
But in the movie of my life, the characters never changed or grew. My life would never be the movieIwanted.
She slipped off her right earring, pulled out her phone and dialed, and lifted the cell to her ear.
