“I wish you were closer. The community college would have been—”
“Mom,” I whined and plopped down onto the pleather couch, peeling off the top layers I had on. “You promised you weren’t going to bring it up again. I went to this school because the rankings will help me get a job right out of college.”
“It’s four whole years though. You would have been done already if you went to the college down the street.” When her kitchen timer went off, she hurried around the corner to grab the food out of the oven.
“And I would have gotten an associate’s degree. With a bachelor’s there’re more opportunities.”
Her head popped out like a floating blonde balloon in the door frame. “Opportunities for what? You can have Rich’s bar or start one yourself.”
If I growled and threw a tantrum, would she listen then? “I don’t know how many times I have to repeat myself. I’m not going to open a bar or work in one ever again for that matter.”
The dining room table was between the kitchen and living room, and my mom had laid out our plates already. With red oven mitts on, she carried the hot dish filled with chicken across the room to the table. I heard the cheese sizzling, and my mouth watered as if I hadn’t had a good home-cooked meal in years.
I suddenly felt terrible for my tabby back at the apartment. “Remind me I have to take a slice of chicken home for Mr. Tabby.”
“Is he starving on your minimum wage salary? You could try to transfer schools. I kept your room just the same.”
I closed my eyes, wanting so badly to say yes to her and also scream no. Sometimes I wondered if she needed me more than I needed her. I reminded myself that my dad left her when I was a tiny baby though, and that she’d raised me all these years on her own. Her family lived in another state. They called once a year and were cordial, but Mom had done it on her own.
“I’m not transferring. When I graduate, you’ll be happy I’ll be able to get a job that will us for years to come.”
“Oh, Zoey, support yourself. I’m fine.” She set some food on my plate, and I hovered over it until she served herself and said, “Bon appétit, mi amor. Dig in.”
Wolfing down my food would have made her nervous, so I did my best to eat at her slow pace and savor every bite.
“How have things been?”
“If you’re asking if I’m sober, the answer is always yes. If you’re asking if I miss you and want you to come home, the answer is always yes.”
“I just want you to stay healthy.” I grabbed her hand and forbade tears from springing to my eyes.
“I’m better now, honey.” She looked out the window next to the dining room table. Her house was small and so was her yard, but she had a well-maintained little garden near the window that she enjoyed taking care. It gave me hope every time I drove up and saw it thriving because I knew she was too.
“I know you’re better now, and I want you to stay better.”
“You know that isn’t how addiction is. It comes and goes. I have my good days and bad days, but I’m trying to never give in again.”
“I’m proud of you, Mama.”
A small smile played on her lips before she squeezed my hand and pulled it back to eat some of her food in silence. After a few minutes, she took a sip of water and folded her hands in front of her. Then, she fidgeted, stood from her chair, and frowned. “I’m proud of you too. I miss you like hell so I don’t say it much, but you should be at that college. You should be enjoying yourself.”
I almost spit out my food in disbelief.
She white-knuckled the old wooden chair in front of her and continued on. “You loved bartending, Zoey. You smiled ear to ear every day I went and visited you.” She waved away a bad thought. “Sure, there were days I don’t remember, and there were hard days that I made for you. It was my fault. I should never have brought my problems there because you enjoyed yourself most in that space.”
I shook my head and stood. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Zoey, it was. It is. I wasn’t as strong as I needed to be back then. I’ve been going to a new therapist though—”
I jerked back at her words. “What do you mean?” I whispered, but the knot in my chest that was so tightly entangled loosened at those words. A weight I hadn’t known was crushing my spirit started to lift.
Mom didn’t take initiative like that. I remember sitting her down in this very dining room and pleading with her to go to rehab. She’d fought me, saying she couldn’t leave me, saying she didn’t have a problem. Then, when I dragged her home night after night, she promised to get better.
One too many bad days and one catastrophic night in the basement made her relent. Still, I packed her bag. I called the rehab center. I drove her there and checked her in.
Mom was my best friend, but she wasn’t the mother I dreamed of. I’d learned young that parents weren’t really perfect humans sent from a higher place to take care of everything for their children. They were people with imperfections and problems and struggles of their own. They were trying to make it just like their kids were.
“I invited you for dinner to tell you that I realize I put a lot of pressure on you, that you and I both need to let go of what happened in that bar.”
I stopped her by shaking my head and looking away. “We don’t have to talk about that. It’s not important.”
“It is important. It’s the most important thing. It broke the bridge between us and shattered your spirit. You were protecting me, Zo. I’m sorry that I put you in that position.”
“You couldn’t know that I would walk down there.” I shrugged, but I was hugging myself and trying to push away the memory. Memories of the smell of weed mixed with sweat as I stumbled down the steps that night were still so strong. I remembered my mother in barely any of her clothing, hanging off a couch and looking up at me with glazed, heartbroken eyes. She’d whispered my name then begged the men for more. I hadn’t known what it was back then, only that it was a drug much stronger than alcohol or weed.
The men had laughed and turned to me. One big guy with crooked teeth, who I still see in my nightmares, curled his lip at me before he said, “She’s already given me all her money and herself. You got anything more to offer up?”
I told them no, that I needed to get my mom and leave. I asked for her clothes, but he just laughed. “Why not give me a kiss, and I’ll get them for you, huh?”
Another man sat next to my mother, rubbing her where he shouldn’t have been, while someone else unbuckled his pants as he stared at me with drugged eyes.
“Zo, please give him what he wants. For me, huh?” My mother’s words, slurred and faraway, still rang loudly in my ears sometimes.
I shook the memory from my thoughts, but my mother, sober and beautiful, eyes bright with remorse, now wanted to talk about it with me over dinner. “I shouldn’t have never asked you—” She choked back a sob.
I stood so abruptly my chair fell over. I hurried to her side and hugged her.
She wiped her tears, then waved me away. “This is what I mean. I’m burdening you for no good reason. You shouldn’t be consoling me. I should be doing that for you. I’m your mother.”