Page 32 of Dirty Legacy

And I still have to make this work with him… somehow.

9

ANGIE

Ifeel like I got dragged behind a car for ten miles by the time I get back home.

I skipped the Uber. I partly walked, partly took the bus. Now I’m sweaty, exhausted, and emotionally drained. I texted Nadia because she was waiting to hear from me, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her how awful it was.

Nadia: I’m so, so proud of you, Angie. I know that was hard, but you did the right thing.

God, she’s got no idea.

I keep thinking about Connor’s face on the way back to the apartment. The way it darkened, turned black, like he was filled with so much loathing and hate for me that he couldn’t contain it.

And that ring. Where the hell did he get that ring?

Like he knew I was coming and was ready for it.

I’m shaken when I step into the apartment. The place reeks like weed yet again. I open a couple windows and set up a fan to circulate clean air while my mother lounges in her bedroom, one leg hanging off the mattress, a lump of hair under her blankets.

She probably woke up, got stoned, and passed out again.

It wasn’t always like this. When I was little, Mom kept it together. The apartment was never neat, but it worked. I got fed, I made it to school, I had friends. Mom wasn’t coming to birthday parties and taking me to soccer practice, but she helped with homework sometimes and talked me through my first period. She wasn’t the best, but she wasn’t the worst.

That changed in high school. She’d always been a flighty hippie, but she got worse and worse as I was able to take on more responsibility. It was like she knew I could bring in money, take care of the house, essentially do everything she hated doing, and she crawled into herself. Or maybe she reverted back to what she’d always been, I don’t know.

Now she’s a spineless echo of the woman I knew when I was small.

Nadia texts a few more times but I ignore them. I start cooking lunch, making sandwiches for me and Mom, since she’ll be hungry soon. I hear her drag herself from bed not long later, using the bathroom, puttering around before stepping into the hall, her eyes bloodshot and sleepy, her hair messy. She smiles at me, another joint dangling from the corner of her lips.

“Morning, darling. Where’ve you been?”

“Had a meeting.”

“On a Saturday?”

“Someone’s got to work.”

She snorts and waves a hand. “The fucking man’s got enough little biddies to do his dirty work.”

“I do data entry for a salvage company, Mom.”

“Damn right you do.” She jabs a finger at me, eyes smiling. “You think they don’t know it? You got no other options.”

Unlike you, I don’t have a daughter to mooch off. “Do you mind not smoking in the house?”

She considers the joint quizzically. “This stuff? It’s all natural, you know that.”

“I know, but, Mom—“ I stop myself from saying, it’s bad for the baby, because she doesn’t know yet. “We’re going to get evicted if you keep it up.”

“Nah, it’s legal now. That fucking landlord scumbag has no legal standing. You hear me?! No legal fucking standing!” She waves a fist at the wall.

Someone pounds on the door.

I yelp in surprise. Mom’s face pales, her hand lowering. She gives me a sheepish grin.

“Guess he was listening,” she says, marching to answer the knock.