by Portia Moore
“You can’t believe Mom doesn’t want you,” she says in disbelief.
“I’m sure her and Martin’s lives would be easier if I wasn’t around. He wants this perfect family with a perfect kid, a Stepford child or something. That’s not who I am!” I say angrily.
“Well, I don’t know your side of the story because besides today, I haven’t talked to you in months,” she spits back.
I look down guiltily.
“Look, I know Dad’s loss affected you the most. You were the closest to him out of all of us.” Her voice is softer now. “But living as if he didn’t exist doesn’t help anything. We can honor his memory by living as if he’s still here, by implementing the lessons he’s taught us.”
I have to laugh. Gia and her way with words. Hopefully she can use them to get my trip to boarding school canceled.
“I’ll talk to Mom for you,” she says with a sigh.
My spirits immediately lift. “You will? Oh, thank you, Gia!” I jump on her lap and hug her tightly.
“But you have got to at least work with Mom. I know you’re not Martin’s biggest fan . . .” she continues as I resume my seat on the sofa.
“I don’t get how you both can pretend that he wasn’t dad’s best friend and Dad would’ve been okay with his wife screwing him,” I say with a laugh.
“It’s not like they were having an affair while dad was alive,” Gia says.
“As far as we know,” I mutter.
“Gwen, really,” she asks angrily. “I can’t believe you’d think Mom would do that. I know you guys have never gotten along, but that’s really low.”
“Just forget I said anything,” I scoff.
“Mom would never do anything like that. She loved Dad as much as we do. Sometimes things happen in life. Can you imagine what it was like for her, losing the man she’d been with for over thirty years, becoming a single parent in an instant, no time to prepare or adjust? Dad was her best friend. They both miss him and took solace in each other. We could have ended up with a lot worse for a stepdad. Martin isn’t a stranger. He’s the same man we always knew—funny, kind, and ambitious. He’s perfect for Mom, and when you’re seventeen, I know you don’t think about things like health insurance, mortgage payments, and tuition, but when Dad passed, Mom became responsible for all of that by herself. Dad’s life insurance couldn’t cover everything for us to survive on. Without Martin, life would be a whole lot harder for all of us.”
“I don’t care what Mom and Martin do. In a couple of months, I’ll be free to live the life I want without anyone on my back or threatening to send me away,” I retort.
“And what kind of life will you be living?” she asks condescendingly.
“I don’t know, but it’ll be better than it is now.” I shrug.
“You’re seventeen. You only have one semester of school left. You haven’t made any plans for higher education, so what are you going to do? Because as of now, you look like you’re going to be with Mom and Martin a lot longer than you’re planning on.”
“I don’t care if I have to join the circus. The second I turn eighteen, I’m out of there,” I tease.
She smirks and rolls her eyes.
“And back on the subject, this ring,” I say, grabbing her hand again.
“Like I said, it’s not an engagement ring. It’s a promise ring,” she says shyly.
“A promise-to-marry-him ring?” I say sarcastically.
“Well, he offered it as an engagement ring, and I accepted it as a promise ring,” she says innocently.
I feel my face scrunch up. “He must be ugly then.”
She laughs. “Not even a little bit,”
“Boring?” I ask, confused.
“No, he’s anything but that,” she replies, amused.
“Stupid? Oh, I’m sorry, intellectually challenged would be the nicer thing to say, huh?”
“No, Gwen. He’s nice, funny, smart, handsome—all the things a girl could want.” She sighs.
“Of course, any guy every girl wants, you wouldn’t want,” I say, rolling my eyes.
Gia’s the pickiest person I know. Everything has to be a certain way. She’s a handful to put up with, and any guy with all the traits she’s listed who wants to spend the rest of his life with her, she should hold on to for dear life. In high school, she was a senior during my freshman year, and she was like a legend. No one was good enough for Gia. She turned down football players, class presidents, guys with amazing hair who played guitar. She was untouchable. She believed boys were a waste of time. She became a grand prize, and there were bets on if one would nab her before she graduated, but not one did. Not even her prom date, the super-hot foreign exchange student from France who looked like a model and had the body of an athlete. Gia told my mom he was boring. What French hot guy is boring?
“I love him,” she says solemnly.
My eyes widen. I’ve never heard her say that. “Then what’s the problem?” I ask with a laugh.
“Marriage is a big deal. Love isn’t the only thing that should be considered.” She shrugs, and I groan.
“You take the most romantic act on the planet, in the history of humanity, and examine it like a legal brief. You’re going to make the perfect lawyer,” I tease.
“See, that’s why divorce is becoming so prevalent. You can’t just get married because of love. You have to consider if your values, beliefs, and goals match,” she says, and I pretend to shoot myself. “You’re young, Gwen, you wouldn’t understand.”
“First off, I turn eighteen in just five months, which means you are only four and some odd change years older than me. Secondly, I’ve probably had more experience with guys than you, hon.”
“Let’s hope to God that’s not true,” she teases me, and I hit her with a pillow.
“Just admit it—the sex is bad, isn’t it?” I say jokingly.
“I’m going to say yes.” Her face has turned completely red.
“The sex is bad?” I ask, shocked at her for divulging something so private.
“No! I mean I’m going to say yes to marrying him . . . eventually,” she says quickly.
“Then what are you waiting for? A guy like that won’t stay on the market forever,” I say, ripping a loose thread from my shirt.
“The right time. After we both graduate, when we see if our lives are going to line up, when I’m absolutely sure.”
“Are you ever really going to be absolutely sure about anyone? I know I’m only seventeen and all, but as far as I know, marriages don’t come with a guarantee. Do they?”
“With a good enough prenup, they do,” she says jokingly.
I roll my eyes at her.
“You’ll understand when you’re older,” she says.
I hate when people say that, like I’m a twelve-year-old. To me, that’s the go-to answer when you’re talking to someone younger than yourself and can’t come up with a good retort. I lie across her living room sofa and put my legs on her lap.
“So when do I get to meet the lucky guy?” I say, braiding loose strands of my hair.
“Well, that depends on how fast Mom wants you home when I talk to her.”
I sit up. “Can I stay the weekend? I need some time away from them.”
“If Mom’s okay with it, fine.”
As if Mom would be okay with anything I wanted to do. I give her my puppy-dog eyes.
“You know, that’s not as cute as when you were ten.” She chuckles, and her phone rings. “That’s probably Mom now. She calls me every morning.” She pushes my legs off her, then she bounces over to the phone and picks it up. “Hello? Hi, Mom!”
I fall back onto the sofa and cover my head with a pillow.
“No, no, Gwen’s not missing. She’s, uh, she’s here actually,” Gia says, amused.
I can actually hear my mom’s head blow off her body. I get off the couch and bounce over to Gia, trying to hear my mother through the phone.
“I’m not sure how she got here. She was on
my doorstep this morning,” Gia reveals, giving me a questioning look. “I think she knows she’s in a lot of trouble, Mom.”
I roll my eyes.
“I know, Mom, you know how Gwen is. The rational thing is the last thing that she does,” she says.
I nudge Gia, and she nudges me back, giving me a wink. They talk for a few more minutes. I’m sure my mom is rambling about what a terrible, disobedient child I am and how my punishment will be one for the history books. Gia nods and agrees with her, but at about the five-minute mark, Gia begins to work her magic.
“I completely agree with everything you just said, but obviously what’s been going on isn’t working. Let her stay the weekend with me. Maybe I can get through to her. I think she just needs to hear your point of view from someone else . . . no, Mom, you know it’s not going to be a party here with me. We’re going to talk, and I’ll show her around campus and introduce her to some of my friends . . .”
No one can settle my mom down like Gia can. I can already hear my mother’s voice calming.
“Yep, first thing Sunday morning, she’ll be headed back. No, I won’t send her back on the bus by herself.” She winks at me.
“See, she thinks I’m still a little baby. I can’t even ride back by myself even though I came all by my grown-up self,” I say.
Gia shoots me a warning look. “I’ll see if I can switch shifts with someone. You know my Monday class is in the evening, so I can bring her,” she says into the phone, turning her back to me. “Everything’ll be fine, I promise. No, I don’t think you should talk to her until she’s back. Just give things a little air.”
I hug her from behind.
“Of course, I get it . . . yup. I love you too, Mom. Tell Martin I said hello. I’ll call you tonight. Love you, buh bye,” she says and hangs up. She turns around and frowns at me. “You owe me big time.”
“Of course I do. I’ll start by making you a real breakfast instead of this crap,” I say sweetly.
She smiles widely—she never could resist my food. I bounce over to her refrigerator and see that it’s mostly crap I can’t pull off breakfast with.
“Okay, we’ve got to go to the store.”
“How about this? I have class in about an hour. I’ll trade you breakfast for dinner. How about my favorite?” She sounds excited.
“Lasagna, right?” I say.
“Yes,” she says with a wide smile. “And since you’re staying the weekend, you’ll get to meet him.”
“Cool, when do I get to meet the Prince Charming who stole Queen Gia’s heart?” I tease.
“No need to call him Prince Charming. William is just fine,” she says happily.
FOR ANY NORMAL person in a normal world whose mother wasn’t named Evangeline Garrett, knocking on your bathroom door would be a normal occurrence. But in our house on 2312 Johnson Street, knocking on our bathroom door is almost like playing a game of roulette. I never know exactly who’s going to come waltzing out of it. This morning it’s Jack Doe. It’s the first time I’ve seen him, so he’s definitely not one of my mother’s regulars. He’s short, the same height as me, with a beer belly he’s obviously proud of since he’s not wearing any shirt. It looks like he’s worn his jeans for the past few days.
“Who are you?” he says through a grunt.
“Doesn’t matter. I have about ten minutes to get ready before school, so if you don’t mind, can you speed it up?” I say, exasperated.
His initial confusion is replaced as his eyes roam my body. Situations like this are the sole reason why I wear full-on pajamas in the morning complete with house shoes.
“You look like your mother,” Jack Doe says with a grimy smile.
The absolute worst thing he could say to me but the truth. Sometimes I hate looking in the mirror because I see her staring back at me. He walks out of the bathroom, making sure to brush against me, and I dodge past him into the bathroom and shut the door. I immediately regret it when the rancid stench hits my nose. I back out of the bathroom quickly, and Jack Doe is still standing there, obviously aware that I wouldn’t stay in there long.
“Sorry about that. Me and Evie had Mexican last night,” he says, leaning on the wall.
It’s great they ate last night since I didn’t. The only things in our fridge are some molding bologna, guacamole, and week-old casserole.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he says as if he’s trying to pick me up from a bar.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m sure I won’t see you again after today,” I say.
“Actually, I think you’ll be seeing me around here more than ya think. So I’m going to ask you again—what is your name?” His tone is more stern.
I feel my stomach clench up. It’s time for me to carry my mace in the mornings again, but I’ve faced off with more intimidating guys than this. He’s actually one of the smaller ones. My mom usually likes them big and stocky. This one’s short, and I’d call him lean, but the meat he actually does have on his bones is loose and like putty.
“Lisa bear, you being mean to my Jacky?” My mom appears from her bedroom wearing a short T-shirt that’s barely covering her butt. Her long blond hair is all over her head, and her blue eyes are full of sleep.
How ironic—his name is actually Jack.
“Of course not, Mom. You know I treat all of the many guests in our home with the utmost respect,” I say with a dazzling smile for Jack. My eyes dart to my mom, who’s scowling over the dig our visitor hasn’t seemed to pick up.
“How about you make us some breakfast, Evie?” Jacky says, heading over to her.
I can’t help but laugh. Jacky’s in for a rude awakening since breakfast is never on my mom’s itinerary. I almost want to stick around to hear her response, but I’m already running late. I take a deep breath and dive back into our bathroom where I open the window to release Jacky’s stench. I shower quickly and scald my toothbrush before brushing my teeth—there’ve been too many instances of my mom’s lovely friends using it. I guess it’s a plus that they actually brush their teeth. Luckily I have swimming first period, so I save the time it’d usually take for me to blow-dry my hair.
I grab my backpack out of my room and head to the kitchen to grab my mom’s keys off the table so I can take the car to school, but they’re not there. I head to her room. The TV’s on, so I know she hasn’t passed back out again.
“Mom, where are the car keys?” I ask as she stares at the news.
“Oh, Jack’s car is having a little bit of an issue, so I let him use mine. He’s bringing it back this afternoon,” she says.
“You let him take our car?” I ask in disbelief.
My mom has done some pretty dumb things, like letting random guys into our house and lending them money here and there, but letting some redneck douche take our car, the only vehicle that can get us both to work and me to school, is on a whole new level of dumb.
“How could you let that jackass take the car? You don’t even know him!” I yell.
“Don’t be so dramatic. I do know him. I’ve known him for about three years now; we’ve just kind of made it official. He’s good people. He’ll bring it back, and if he doesn’t, I know where he works,” she says, waving me off.
Official? What the hell does that mean? It’s too early for me to even want to think about the effects of that statement.
“How am I supposed to get to school?” I screech.
“Can’t you get a ride from that Scott boy? The cute one who’s always hanging around here. What’s his name?” she says, unfazed.
“Ugh!” I groan before storming out of the house. I sit on the porch, trying to calm myself down. It’s already September, but thank God the weather is still warm out.
“Just one more year, that’s it.”
I cut my pity party short and trek the few blocks to hopefully catch Chris before he leaves. I should have called him before I left, but it would have ruined my dramatic exit. Hanging out was a lot easier when we lived next door to each other
, but after my mom and stepdad got divorced, she sold the house and moved us to where we are now—which is a downgrade to say the least. My old stepdad wasn’t one of my favorite people when I was growing up. I’d thought he treated my mom like a child, almost like my sister. Little did I know my mom liked acting like a selfish, impulsive little kid and the normality of my life was strictly because of him. I learned that when, at thirteen, I had to take over paying our bills so stuff didn’t get turned off, reminding her to get groceries, and getting her up in time for me to get to school and her to get to work.
The worst habits I couldn’t break her of are the drinking and bringing home random guys who make her feel pretty. Only Evie would pick up guys who didn’t have their own houses, or better yet, guys who shared their houses with the women they went home to and the children who weren’t bastards.
I used to try to pinpoint when my mom became a whore. It’s harsh but completely true. The reason we’re on the poor side of town, why I had to move from next door to my best friend, is she couldn’t keep her legs shut and opened them for my stepdad’s younger brother. I don’t know which is worse: slut or prostitute. Some would say prostitute, but at least they get paid. My mom gets nothing most of the time—at least nothing that’s worth it.
My stomach growls, reminding me to pick up some food today. She’s been out almost every night after work, and I’ve been eating at the Barrow, a little coffee and pastry shop in town. I’ve been working there as a waitress for five months. I see Chris’s mom’s car still parked on their lot, so I haven’t missed a ride to school. I glance at my watch and see that I’m twenty minutes ahead of schedule. Maybe I’ve made it in time to get some leftovers from the breakfast Chris’s mom makes every single morning. She’s like Martha Stewart and Rachael Ray tied into one. I go around the back and knock on the door, a habit I’ve had since when we lived across from them. Gwen greets me with a warm smile.
“Hi, Lisa. Happy Monday,” she says cheerfully as she welcomes me into the kitchen.