An anguished sob escapes Mom and she scrunches her hair in her clawed hands. My heart shatters as I wrap her in my arms.
“Don’t cry,” I whisper, as broken as she is. I hate seeing her cry. It wrecks me, stabbing my heart like lethal daggers. “It’s okay. Just breathe, Mom. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. We always do.”
The words feel hollow, but they won’t stop coming. I have to do something to stop her tears.
Mom turns with a strained whimper, banding her arms around my waist and burying her head in my chest. Tears sting my eyes and clump my lashes as I stroke her hair, soothing her with gentle shushes. We stay like that until she calms down.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she says repeatedly in a tight voice. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
Helplessness shackles me, clamping me in iron. How can I fix this?
Mom pats my back and pushes me off gently. I lean back to give her room and she peers up at me. She immediately bursts out laughing.
“Oh my god,” she breathes through weak laughter. Her shoulders shake under my hands. “You look like a raccoon.”
I blink, swiping away tear tracks from under my eyes. My thumb comes back smeared with mascara. I huff out a laugh and shake my head.
Giving her a wry smile, I hug her. “Let me go wash my face, then I’ll make some tea.”
When I return, Mom has her name tag in her hand, tracing the plastic letters that spell Macy. I plug in our electric kettle that I found at the thrift shop downtown and pull out cups and tea bags. As I make the tea, Mom remains quiet.
It scares me when she breaks down. She doesn’t usually cry in front of me, so for her to lose her composure instead of going to cry in her room, I know it’s bad.
“Here,” I say as I set down a steaming mug of tea in front of her.
Mom sets aside the dinged up plastic name tag and curls her hands around the mug. There’s something about a warm drink that has magical calming powers. No matter how bad things get, it helps ground us.
I take the seat across from her and chew on my lip as I work out how to broach the subject. “So…”
Mom sighs, weary and beat down by the world. It makes my heart twinge, the fractures like the prick of a thousand needles. I swallow, my throat thick and tight.
“I was let go from the diner.”
A lump lodges in my throat. I wheeze when I try to breathe around it.
Mom rubs her temple, scrunching her face up. “I don’t know how we’ll make rent by the end of the month. I’ll have to start looking for another job right away.”
“I could get a jo—”
“No.” Mom cuts me off with a fierce look. “I’ve told you a hundred times, Blair. Focus on school. I’ll take care of us. I just want you to worry about your studies. You worked so hard to get your scholarship. I won’t see you waste that opportunity because of money worries.”
“But it’s not even your fault! It’s all because Dad left like a goddamn—”
Mom slams her hand on the table. I jolt. I’m glad she has some fight in her still, even if it’s to scold me.
“That’s enough. It doesn’t matter anymore. We just have to keep moving forward. Dwelling doesn’t do us any favors.”
I lean back in my chair, sighing. I tap my nail-bitten fingers against the side of the mug. There is another option. I was going to save it up, but since Devlin hasn’t talked to me all week, I might as well give it to her now.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Blair?”
I hold up a finger as I go to my room. I wait for a second, hands planted on my hips. Sighing, I go to the mattress of my futon and lift the corner. In the closet, I dig money out of two different pairs of boots. From my sock box, I retrieve the last of my saved stash of cash. The stack is thick, all twenties and fifties earned from playing Devlin’s game.
It’s everything I’ve saved up so far.
Going back to the main room of the trailer, I put the stack in front of Mom. “Here. We can use this for rent. I think there’s enough for two months at least.”
Mom gapes, whipping her shocked gaze from the money to me. “Wh—Blair, where did you get this?”
I shrug, picking at an angry red cuticle on my pinkie. The stinging bite of pain keeps me anchored.
Mom thumbs through the money, mouthing the count. The higher she goes, the more her eyebrows creep up on her forehead. “Blair,” Mom rasps. “This is almost five thousand dollars.”
“I know.”
“Where did you get this much money?”
I skirt the question. “I’ve been tutoring some people at school. They’re all rich, so they pay great. Just take it. Will it help?”
Mom shakes her head in disbelief. “Yes, but…”
Covering her hand with mine, I implore her. “Please, Mom. Let me help. I’m not a kid anymore and I don’t want you to stress over this. This way you don’t have to kill yourself searching for a new job. You can get some rest first.”
I take in her sunken eyes, the exhausted creases at the corner of her eyelids, the limpness to her low ponytail, and the alarmingly pale pallor of her skin. Mom is only 37. She married my dirtbag dad at 18, young and so in love. He gave her the world, and she gave him me at 19. She works so hard and looks like she’s ten years older than her age.
Mom has been through too much.
Her lip quivers and her eyes turn glassy, filled with fresh tears.
“Oh, baby girl.”
I squeeze her hand. “We’ll be okay, Mom. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Mom gets up and drops a kiss on top of my head. “Have you eaten yet? How about we splurge on a pizza?”
“Sounds perfect.”
As Mom calls for delivery, I gather my homework from the coffee table and set it with plates. While she’s ordering, I grab my phone and tap out another text to Devlin to find out what’s up with our deal. If Mom can’t get a job, then I need him now more than ever. As much as needing him makes my blood boil, he’s the easiest way I can make money right now.
Blair: Don’t know why you’re ignoring me. Are we done?
I can’t believe I’m actually upset about Devlin’s cold shoulder. Not that long ago, it would’ve been a dream come true to stop existing on his radar. Now I want to jump up and down in front of him in the SLHS cheerleader outfit again to get his attention.
My cheeks heat.
I absolutely do not picture what else I might get from him by wearing it.
Definitely not.
Not at all.
Nope.
My phone buzzes, sending my heart free falling into my gut. It’s not Devlin. He’s still ignoring me.
Switching to Instagram, I open the direct message from Gemma. I haven’t told her about getting tangled up with her boyfriend’s evil cousin.
@brightgem: Dyyyying!
@brightgem: [sent @pugsly_daily’s story]
The Instagram story is hilarious and lifts the weight from my shoulders for a few moments of pure pug-induced happiness. The pug in the video is our favorite pudgy Instafamous dog account sinking into a beanbag, barely visible until he explodes from the beanbag with an amusing flail.