Page 11 of Holding On

"Are you having pain?" I ask to see if he'll admit it. He always denies it and tells me he's fine so I won't worry.

"It's because of my workout yesterday. I pushed myself too hard."

"Maybe you shouldn't—"

"Becca, I'm fine." He sits down at the kitchen table and unpacks his food from the sack.

He wouldn't need those strong pain pills if his pain was from a workout, but pushing him to tell me the truth will just cause us to argue so I let it go.

"So anything interesting happen today?" I ask, sitting across from him.

He was just about to bite into a drumstick but he sets it down and looks at me with a serious expression that's making me nervous.

"What is it?" I ask.

"I wasn't sure if I should tell you this."

"Tell me what?"

He sighs, his eyes on mine. "Mom called."

I burst up from the table, anger filling my veins. "And you talked to her?"

"I didn't know it was her. I didn't recognize the number. She must have a new phone."

"Why didn't you just hang up on her?"

"Because she's our mom. And I wanted to hear what she had to say."

"And?" I put my hands on my hips. "What did she say?"

"She wanted to know how we're doing."

I huff. "Yeah, right. What did she really want?"

"That's it. That's all she wanted. She asked how my leg was and she asked how you were doing."

"She asked how your leg was? Did she forget you don't have a leg?"

"Becca, you know what she meant," he says in a conciliatory tone. He's always giving Mom the benefit of the doubt. Trying to make me forgive her. And I tell him I have, but I really haven't. Why would I? She left us high and dry. Divorced our dad when I was 13 and Mike was 18 so that she could go be with the guy she'd been having an affair with for years. She ended up running away with him and moving to Texas and forgetting all about us.

Dad was never the same after she left. He became depressed and withdrawn. Mom broke his heart, literally. He died of a heart attack when I was 18, the summer after I graduated. Mike was serving overseas so I was left to fend for myself. Mike sent money but it wasn't enough so I got three jobs and lived with two roommates in a shitty apartment. Meanwhile, Mom was living in Dallas with her rich boyfriend, who owns a popular restaurant chain. She could've offered to help me out but she didn't. She called to offer her condolences but nothing else.

The next time I heard from her was when Mike got hurt. She got the news before I did and told me what happened. She didn't seem that upset about it. She kept saying he'd be fine and not to worry, but of course I worried. He could've been killed. And he was left without a freaking leg!

When Mike moved back here, Mom never offered to help us. She likes to pretend we don't exist. We're a piece of her past she only thinks about when guilt creeps into her conscious. Whenever that happens, she gives us a quick call to relieve her guilt, which is why I never answer her calls. I don't want to relieve her guilt. I think she should have to live with it.

"What else did she say?" I ask.

"Not much. She's going on an Alaskan cruise in August."

I shake my head. "She seriously had the nerve to tell you that, knowing we're struggling to make ends meet?"

"That's just the way she is. We can't change her. She's always put herself before others."

"Which is why I don't understand why you keep trying to have a relationship with her."

"I'm not trying to have a relationship with her. But I'm not going to be rude to her or hang up on her. What good would that do? It wouldn't make me feel any better. She's still our mom, and if she wants to check in now and then, what's the harm?"

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