Page 73 of Bad Boys Don’t Date Clumsy Girls

“How did you two turn out so well?” Mom asks.

“We have each other.” I look at Mom, whose mouth is now hanging open. “Grandma wasn’t negligent until a couple of years ago, so we were old enough to be able to get by on the minimum care by then. But before then, Joel and I used to hide together in his closet when the two of you started fighting.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“He still hasn’t filled the spot. I don’t think we could both fit in together anymore, but it’s there if we need it. Like a security blanket.”

“Ava.” But she just shakes her head and doesn’t say any more.

“I expect you to work your tail off to keep clean after you’ve recovered. You will need to join support groups. And I think you should go to an anger management class. I’ve been researching them.”

Mom nods but won’t look at me.

“You’ll always be our mom, but it’s never too late to become our mother.”

Her lips quiver and she nods some more.

I think my head is going to explode from anxiety, but I also feel an exhilaration over having told her point-blank what is the most wrong with our family. I have no idea if it will change anything, but I said it. I didn’t hide from it. I didn’t run away—even though I wanted to so badly. I just told her.

“Do you need anything?” I ask again.

She shakes her head, so I head to the door. “Just call out if you need something, I’ll be in my room doing homework.”

“Ava.” She says my name with such urgency, I spin around expecting to find she’d fallen out of bed or something. “I’m so proud of you and Joel. Truly. You had a lot to overcome, but both of you are doing so much better than I was at your age. You will have opportunities in your life that I never had because I didn’t graduate. I’m just really proud.”

I smile, but my mind is spinning. Mom didn’t graduate? Plus, she mentioned some bad things that happened to her when she was young. But the coward in me refuses to ask any more questions. “Thanks, Mom.”

In my room, I rearrange some of my opinions of Mom. It sounds like she had it rough as a kid too, but she was alone. It sounds like Grandma didn’t help her or protect her. Maybe I’ll never know exactly what happened. I probably don’t want to know. But it helps to know that there are reasons why Mom is the way she is. It doesn’t make it easier, and at some point, she could have gotten help, but it still helps to know that her being a sucky mother and overall human being isn’t only her fault.

I stare at the picture of Joel and I pinned to the bulletin board over my makeshift desk. What would I be like if I didn’t have him? I hope I’ll never have to know.

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