Page 51 of When We Were Younger

It's my turn to roll my eyes.

"We both know you only answer your phone when Mrs. Johnson calls. God forbid you miss Liquor World's weekly shipment of Tanqueray."

Mom is up like a flash. She's a blur as she crosses the room. I barely have time to react before she raises one hand, red nails sharpened to clawlike points and smacks it across my face. The force of it shocks me, knocking the wind out of me. My own hand flies to my cheek, grasping the spot where she struck me. I feel a gooey warmth, and I know she's drawn blood. I can't even turn my head to look at her. I'm stunned in disbelief. Daniela Hart is neglectful, a drunk. She's forgotten to feed me dinner, sent me to school in the same clothes two days in a row, forgotten me at the grocery store, but she has never, ever hit me.

I didn't think she ever cared enough to.

"You are a disgusting little brat. I know what you did. I saw you two sneaking around last night. I saw you walking back without your dress this morning.Nothing more than a slut. You're just like your father, whoring your body out all around town. And for what? Was it worth it? Will it be worth it when you end up pregnant and ruin that boy's life just like your father ruined mine? He has a future, Dottie Lynn. He's going to college, he's going to have a company to run, and what do you have? Just your pretty face, and even that will fade eventually. You have nothing, Dottie. You are nothing."

My eyes brim with tears as she continues her tirade. This? The yelling? Talking down to me? This part is nothing new. It's all things she's been telling me for years. My father ruined her life. I ruined her life. I'm stupid. Nothing more than a pretty face. Nothing to offer this world. That Stephen is too good for me, and she can't understand why he would want to date me. I'm bringing him down. He has a future, and I have nothing.

I've heard it all before. But this time?

This time, it stings. Harder than the red mark left by her hand on my cheek.

And all I do is stand there. I stand there and I take it. I take every ounce of her vitriol, every waft of her gin-soaked breath, every shove against my chest with her spindly fingers.

And then, I move. I drop the dress. I walk to my room and slam open the door. Mom follows, yelling and spitting as she goes. I turn my backpack upside down, emptying my notebooks and pens and watching them fall to the ground. Mom shoves me, and I ignoreher. I throw open my drawers and start shoving clothes into my bag. Shirts, shorts, those stupid lacy panties I was going to put on. I move to the bed. Mom yells. I throw my phone charger and my journal into the bag. Mom shoves. Tears spill from eyes. My body aches. My soul splits. I swap out my prom heels for sneakers. Mom yells.

Worthless. Stupid. Not good enough. Never good enough. Should've left you and ran like I wanted to.

I storm out of my room. In the kitchen, I find a notepad and scribble something down. I rip off the paper and beeline towards the door. A bottle flies at my head but misses. Glass shatters against the wall, gin pouring down to the ground. I close the door behind me, and I don't look back.

I tuck the note into the mailbox at the end of the driveway at the house next door, and I walk.

I walk into town. I walk down Main Street. I walk past the "Welcome to Be utiful Fox Hole" sign.

I don't know where I'm walking to. I don't know when I'm going to stop.

All I know is that it's time to go.

27

STEPHEN

Age Eighteen

Hey sweetheart, you almost ready to go? I've got some of Mom's chocolate chip cookies we can share if you're hungry.

Dorothea

I’m sorry, I can’t tonight. Mom is up and alert.

Damn. Leave it to your mom to have the world’s worst timing. Maybe we can go driving around tomorrow?

Dorothea

Maybe. Can’t talk right now.

No problem. I’ll stop by in the morning if that’s okay.I love you, Dorothea.

I wake up and check my phone, rereading Dorothea’s texts from last night. I’m guessing she fell asleep before she was able to text me back, since that’s the only time she doesn’t tell me she loves me. A quick glance out my bedroom window shows that her bedroom light is still off, so I decide to check in on her later after she’s woken up.

I can smell breakfast on the stove, so I throw on sweatpants and head down the stairs. I’ll eat and then go for a run. I'm sort of really into sex now that I've done it. I want to keep myself in shape so I can keep doing it.

Mom and Dad are both at the kitchen table when I turn the corner, mugs in hand and a piece of paper on the table between them.

"Morning," I say, and they both look up at me with somber eyes. My stomach drops. The last time this happened–Mom and Dad at the table, staring up at me with sad eyes–it was the day after my grandma passed away. I look to Mom, and her lip trembles.

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