Page 100 of Broken Grump

Next, she notices my glass of wine sitting on the island in the kitchen. “Drinking? On a weeknight?”

At least I’m at home and not out at some fancy bar while my child is sleeping.

“Well? Aren’t you going to offer your dear old mommy some juice?”

Yuck.The goons who refer to wine as “mommy juice” give me the creeps.

“Adriana?”

“Right, sorry.” Her shrill voice makes me jump back out of my head. Then, I go over to the cupboard and get her a clean glass.

“Ah.” That’s all she utters when I hand it to her.No “thank you”. Nothing.

After taking a sip, she doesn’t even try to hide her distaste for it.

“What are you doing here, Mother?”

“What?” She feigns confusion. “A mother can’t visit her daughter?”

A mother can. You can’t.

She holds this façade a little longer before giving in. “Alright, fine. I’m ready to make you an offer. And one I think you’ll find highly enticing.”

“Okay?” My eyebrow is lifted high on my forehead.This should be good.I also chug more of my “inadequate” wine, praying for it to magically make her tolerable to be around.

She sits, leans down, and fingers the rim of the glass. “I’ll agree to drop the lawsuit if you go back to Phoenix and renounce any claim to Sal’s fortune.”

I almost spit out the alcohol in my mouth. To stop it, I have to raise my hand to cover my mouth.

“In return, I will reinstate the trust fund I took away from you when you,” she gulps, “were with a child and threatened to ruin our family’s esteemed reputation.”

My fists ball up. “You mean when I got pregnant. With your grandchild.” Anytime she talks about my daughter in terms of being a blemish on our family name, I want to pounce on her.

She waves her hands about. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Anyway, that’ll be more than enough money for you to start your life over. So, what do you say?”

The rage is only growing from deep inside of me. Ever since I was a kid, she’s tried to offer “band-aids” like this to fix any harm she thought I did to her and her beloved character.

“Why on Earth would you ever think I’d take that deal?” Clearly, she thinks I’m even dumber than I thought.

Blinking rapidly, she explains, “Well, because it would make your life so much easier.”

“My life, Mom? Or yours?”

She stutters, trying to find more words.

Now, I’m not sure if it’s the wine, my pure will, or a combination of both, but I’m feeling a confidence I haven’t had before.

“You know what? Just save it. I don’t care.”

When she opens her mouth, I stick up my finger.

“No. It’s my turn to talk now.” If tonight has proved anything, it’s that she only cares for her bank account and well-being over her own flesh and blood. “Mother, you’ve done this my entire life.”

“What? Provided for you in ways some children only wish to be?”

Ugh.That’s another one of her common ploys. She loves to bring up the children in orphanages who don’t have parents.

But that brings up a great point. “Younever provided for me, Mother. You never cared about me. Abuelo did. And thank God he was around. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have had parents at all.”

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