Unusual hair and eye colors are the other key markers, but now that colored hair is on-trend and fashion contacts are easily available, few betas clock us that way anymore.
Mom’s hair is honey-colored and streaked with pink, with matching pink eyes. Strawberry shortcake, Chuck used to call her. I don’t think of him as ‘Dad’ anymore.
She bleached her hair and wore blue contacts for a while as we moved around, but since we’ve settled in Pleasantwood she doesn’t have to hide those traits anymore. She jokes that she’s just happy to skip the salon bill, but I know it means a lot to her that she gets to be herself.
I don’t have to rack up a salon bill either, but it’s because my hair and eyes are beta-passing enough. I keep my coppery red-orange hair around shoulder length, and my eyes are green—brighter than occur in the beta gene pool, but still green. As long as I keep my hair over my ears and don’t smile or talk too much, most betas assume I’m one of them. Though I do have to awkwardly laugh off any questions about my assumedly Irish heritage. St Patrick’s is a weird time for me.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I say to Mom. “But you should have ordered takeout. I’m not sure you should be standing so much to cook.”
“It’s been ayear, hun,” Mom says, settling down across from me with her own plate. “The doctor cleared me, remember? You were there. Grilling him.”
“There were a few complaints about him online,” I warn. “Someone’s pin slipped.”
“The man pieced my foot back together from a thousandpieces. You saw the X-ray. Dust. I think if a pin slips now and again, we can cut him some slack.”
“Iknow, Mom, that’s—I should have been here. If I’d come back after graduation, I could have shoveled for you, and there wouldn’t have been any ice, and—”
Mom gently lays her hand across the back of mine. “It’s not your fault, Jamie.”
I sigh. Glance up at her. Back at the potatoes. Take a big bite. Say through it, “I’m sorry. Thank you for dinner. I’m glad you’re feeling better, really.”
“I’m feeling alotbetter. Good as new, basically. Well, good as can be expected for fifty-one, anyway.”
The number still surprises me. She was only twenty when she had me. Mom is one of those wise, worldly people who always seems both so much older and younger than her actual age. When she was my age, she had a ten-year-old. I haven’t even committed to getting a cat.
So it kind of feels… right, moving back home. Taking care of her. Makes it like there’s a reason I felt so… unmoored. If the universe was keeping me available so that I could be here for Mom when she needs it, that’s fine by me.
“There’s just one thing bothering me,” Mom continues, a little bit pointed, a little bit teasing.
My chest tenses. “What?” Whatever it is, anything, I’ll fix it.
“Watching you waste away at that job, fussing over me when I should be fussing over you.”
“Mom… I’m fine, really. I’m happy to.”
“I know,” she says, eyes narrowing a little. “That’s what worries me. I was listening to this podcast about families with a history of abuse. About how the kids take on others’ burdens, especially their parents. And I know that happened with us, and—”
“It’s fine, really,” I say, chest tightening more.
“Itisfine,” Mom says, her agreement throwing me off a little. “I’ve made peace with it. I’m a big girl, big enough to handle that our situation had consequences. You and I were in it together. I know it was never fair to lean on you like I did, but now I know firsthand just how strong you are, Jamie. What you did for me mattered. What you’re doing for me matters. It has been… truly a delight to spend this time with you. To get to know the man—personyou’ve become.”
The correction is subtle, but it means a lot. I’m tearing up. Ugh, I hate moments like this. I want to run and hide.
“T-thanks,” I manage, staring at my potatoes.
“So I’m going to burden you one more time and ask for one moreveryimportant thing from you.”
“Whatever you need,” I say, hoping for an out, hoping this request will delay the conversation about my future.
“Get a job in your field,” she says quietly, earnestly. “Move to the city. Build a life for yourself. Learn more about who you are, what you like. Call me and tell me about your shitty neighbors. Literally nothing would make me happier in the entire world.”
Shit. She’s fighting fire with fire, martyrdom with martyrdom. I can’t compete with this. This is the Mom trump card. The ultimateI birthed you and my happiness depends on youswitcheroo.
Whoever says omegas lack the cunning of alphas doesn’t know my fucking mother.
“I like it here,” I murmur. “There are no… demanding personalities.”
“No unbound alphas.”
