Page 21 of Break Your Fall

I twirl a piece of sausage with my plastic fork in an attempt to ignore the reminder, just like I’ve been ignoring the calls from Mitch and Shelby.

Shelby.Does she know about. . .?

“So, nothing better to do?”

“Stop it. I love spending time with you.” Mom uses her soft voice around those words.

Hope threatens to pull me open like it always does at my mother’s assurances and warmth, but the tug is accompanied with a brace for the let down.

“I met someone.”

I stab the piece of sausage. “You’realwaysmeeting someone. What’s that have to do with me?”

She ignores me this time. “A man. Agoodman.” I scoff my disbelief as she continues. “He’s new. I snagged him at the coffee shop and we talked for hours.” She laughs around a bite of bagel. “That man has a mouth on him,” she says, both complaining and suggestive, adding on a moan as she licks cream cheese from the corner of her mouth.

I grimace and try not to laugh.

My mother definitelysnaggedthis new guy, digging her claws in deep before he could catch wind of who she is. What the Stokes represent in Bellsby, Maine. If this new guyisa good man, I should save him from our corruption.

“And he has more baggage than I do,” she continues, letting me down again.Sounds like agreatman.I bet this new guy’s baggage is the same color as hers with the same bitter smell. “He’s a widower.” My eyes snap to hers.Oh.“His wife died a year ago or something and he’s looking to start over”—she waves that off—“and lucky for me, he relocated right down the road.”

“Lucky for you,” I repeat, low, relenting to a bite of the sausage still dangling from my fork.

“Lucky forus,” my mom adds now before clearing her throat and shifting in her chair. “I’ve been wanting to make some changes around here.”

I chuckle despite myself, look her in the eye. “It only took you eighteen years.”

She stares, unamused, then gives me another pointed look. “Better late than never.”She’s killing it with the phrases today.“I’ve been wanting to make some changes around here,” she tries again with more force around the words.

“Foryou,” I cut in.

“Forbothof us, Reyna.”

“You’ve never wanted to make changes,” I say with a scoff. “And all of a sudden New Guy comes to town and you do. That’s great, Mom.” I drop my fork with the half-eaten sausage.Why don’t I have any Fruity Pebbles?!

“Don’t twist this around.” Mom points her finger, then spoons up the last of her eggs. “You don’t live in my head. You don’t know what I’ve been wanting.”

“I know what you’ve beenshowing,” I spit out before dropping my stare. I yank up my fork and poke at the bagel.

Mom takes a breath. “Listen, babe.” My eyes meet hers again, pulled up by the endearment. “I’m telling you all this, because he agreed to an official date with me—tonight—and Iknowof my lack of experience with good men,” she admits so I don’t have to point it out. “I want your help.” I sit up straighter—hope tugging me like a puppet as I wait for my mother to cut the string. “I want … to do this right. He’s coming here for dinner and I want you to join us. He’s excited to meet you,” she adds with a smile.

When I’m lost for words, she shifts around, continuing, “I thought you could help me pick an outfit, a meal to cook. Er—a meal to order andpretendI cooked.” She laughs. “He’s new, he shouldn’t be able to sniff it out. And he likes surprises, apparently.”

The bits of sausage I’ve swallowed are threatening to come back up. She’s doing this for a guy. She wants to have time with me for a higher chance of impressing some guy. Everything my mother does is for the money or the bottle or the guy. A normal Reyna would go along with it. A normal Reyna would just accept another fleeting moment with her mom to have her in any way she could. But as my mother had so kindly pointed out, I’m no longer the sunshine after the storm—I am the storm.

I feel like crying as I hold her encouraging, bordering on hopeful stare, such a reflection of mine. But this time, I don’t. I just want the reflection gone. And if I can’t change mine, maybe I can change hers.

I remember the red dye I’d seen in a drawer in the bathroom last week, tucked in with the cords from her hair dryer. Probably a request from one of her bed rockers who left her before she could fulfill whateverThe Little Mermaidfantasy he had. But I know my mother, and all she needs is a little more encouragement. Frommysmiling, satiated face.

“You should dye your hair,” I push with that face.

“What?” she asks as she makes a very different face, her hand flying up to finger her blonde strands, already considering the idea.

“You said he likes surprises,” I continue, standing with a quickness and tucking in my chair.Place the thought; don’t linger.“And I think you’d look great. He’ll love it.”

“Uh—Hey,” she calls to my back as I leave for the hall, calling out again when I don’t stop. “Be here tonight!”

I rush through my room to find some shoes. I need to get away from here.

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