Page 51 of Implode

When I get to the bottom step, I hesitantly move toward her and embrace her in a hug. Her body stiffens as she tries not to dump coffee on my back.

“Oh my goodness, Claire, you smell rank.”

I pull back immediately and wipe at the tears in my eyes. There’s no point hiding them. My mom has seen me cry plenty of times. How can I earn the nickname Cry Baby any other way?

“I have to shower,” I mutter.

“Yeah. Yeah, you do.”

I want to ask her if one of the coffees is for me, but figure by now she would have offered one up. Maybe Dad is coming too, and she is trying to be nice.

“Anyway,” she says, “I’m sure you saw your boxes in your room. There’s a few more in the garage labeled with your name on them.”

I swallow hard and try to keep my composure. My mom brings out a level of vulnerability in me that I would rather keep concealed. “Okay. I’ll go through them and take what I want.”

“I can’t believe this place got sold as fast as it did. I hope the new owners create better memories here than I did,” she says with sadness.

Me too.

“How are you doing, Mom?” I ask, rocking on my heels.

She looks over at me, shocked that I even bother to ask her. “Some days I struggle more than others. Some days I search for some meaning in all of this.”

I nod. I imagine that she is not completely oblivious to her bad choices in life. I can only hope she will someday learn from them.

When the conversation lulls, I excuse myself to go back upstairs and shower. I’m not sure how much it actually helps though. Between the sight of the rusty water and the mildew stench billowing from the shower head, I know that my bodywash can only mask so much.

I dry off, twist my hair into a loose ponytail, and get dressed into fresh clothes from my luggage.

When I make my way downstairs, Mom is exactly where I left her.

“Is Dad around for me to see him?”

“He decided to take a vacation during this time and leave me and the lawyers to handle all of the legal stuff. He is something else. What did I ever see in him?”

I frown over her description of the only man I could call Dad. She decided to cheat on him. I hate that all throughout my childhood, I was manipulated by her negativity toward him. This was never my fault. I am just a product of her bad choices.

“Is there anything I can do to help you out while I am here, Mom?”

She flinches over my offer. Maybe she is confused why I am willing to help. “No. Ivan has been great at distracting me from this bad chapter in my life. He’s been a real blessing.”

I want to tell my mom that it is more than a bad chapter. Pretty sure she has starred as the main character in a bad book.

“Who is Ivan?”

“Just someone…”

I inwardly groan. “Okay.” I am not sure I need to know who Ivan is right now.

“Don’t worry, he is picking me up in a bit. I’m letting him use my car. Here, let’s go to the garage, and I can show you the boxes.”

I follow my mom and get a chance to actually see her. Her long hair looks to be created with extensions and dyed tips. She looks great for her age and is wearing clothes I would have worn at one time. Actually, her black skirt looks exactly like something I did own.

We carry some boxes into the kitchen and start pulling out old assignments, school pictures, and a few trophies. Another box contains some of my cheer uniforms, a prom dress, and my cap and gown.

Mom starts giggling over one of my pictures where I just hit puberty and was battling some bad acne. “Sometimes even makeup can’t fix that mess.”

Her words sting. She was always like that. She loved taking cheap shots at my confidence. I had plenty of my own negative thoughts, so she didn’t need to add more. It was hard enough fitting into my own skin—when my skin looked so vastly different than everyone else’s. Now, I embrace my differences. I overcame the acne through a better diet, and my complexion is admired by most people who know me now. I always look like I have a glowing tan. People actually pay salons to get what I have naturally.

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