Page 51 of In Plain Sight

“No, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s Friday. I can’t just take tomorrow off with no notice. And I need the hours.” I didn’t add that the last place I wanted to spend any time, let alone a day off, would be at church.

She made an exasperated sound. “You can take one day off to help.”

“I really can’t.” I rubbed my eyes tiredly.

“What about today? Can you at least help with setting up?”

“What time?”

“From four until seven.”

“I’m working at two.”

“I don’t understand why you don’t work real hours,” she huffed. “You’ve been at that place for years, but they won’t move you to days? Are you that bad at your job?”

I drew in a deep breath and held it for a count of three. It didn’t matter what I said, my mother was convinced that I worked evenings and weekends because I wasn’t good enough to work days and not because I chose to do later shifts.

“I’m sorry I can’t help.” I made sure to keep my tone apologetic. “I hope the blood drive is a success.”

“Will you at least come and donate? Everyone else’s kids help out. I’m the only one who has to do everything alone. The least you can do is put in some face time since you refuse to do anything else to help.”

“I can’t. You know I’m not allowed to donate blood.”

“That incident was years ago,” she protested. “One bad reaction and you can’t donate ever again?”

“Those are the rules.”

Back in high school, I’d fainted after giving blood. One minute I was sitting in one of the plastic chairs waiting for my time to be up, and the next I woke up on the floor with a bump on my head and a sprained wrist from landing on it funny after I’d fallen.

“Do you need anything else?” I asked, not bothering to police my tone. I was so done with this conversation.

“A son who isn’t a giant disappointment would be nice.”

I didn’t even flinch. That wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard dozens of times before.

“Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be the only one whose son doesn’t participate or help with events?” she demanded. “How badly that reflects on me?”

I’d stopped all involvement with our church at twenty-one and hadn’t looked back. My mother refused to accept that, and I didn’t see that changing.

“I’m sorry it’s so difficult for you.” I’d learned long ago that it was easier to just apologize and let her rant than it was to try and talk to her rationally about things.

“And yet you won’t do anything to change it.” She huffed out a breath. “After everything I did for you, you’re perfectly happy to abandon me the same as your father.”

My chest tightened, and a sour feeling filled my stomach. “I have to go,” I said tightly. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Not waiting for her answer, I ended the call and lay back down on my bed.

My mother was the only family I had, and she was also the only person who could hurt me like that. She’d spent my entire life telling me my father was a deadbeat who’d changed his mind about being a father, and that’s why he left when I was only four months old.

But instead of assuring me that it wasn’t my fault and he was the asshole who’d abandoned us, she’d thrown that in my face every time I disappointed her or didn’t give in to her demands.

I’d spent most of my life convinced I was a bad person and there was something wrong with me. I believed that I was the reason my father left. That if I was better or born different, hewould have stayed, and I could have had a family like everyone else.

Ivy was the one who helped me realize that was bullshit. He left because he was an asshole. And she helped me see that his actions had nothing to do with me, and my mother was horrible for putting that on me as a child.

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