Page 13 of Give Me Perfect Love

Because I’m neither.

She studies me. “You’re all grown up.” She rubs her fingers over her shirt.

I can’t take my eyes off of her.

Time hasn’t been kind.

Proof of her smoking habit covers the skin above her lip. Deep lines web out from russet eyes and her hair has thinned. There’s more gray now than dirty blonde, and the pounds she’s gained must be heavier than the weight she put on my shoulders when she walked out of this door and left me.

Serves her right.

A tiny speck of glee flows through my soul, like dust in the summer light.

I’m happy she looks like shit.

So many emotions run through my mind at once, but the one that stands out the most…the one I’ve held on to since the day I realized she wasn’t coming back?

Anger.

Pure, hot anger.

But hurt is a close second.

The two emotions blend, but anger sweeps over hurt like lava rolling over beach sand.

It consumes and doesn’t apologize.

I’m not over any of this. Madness makes my hands shake.

Hers go into her pockets and she looks to the ground. “I got the news he passed away a few days ago.” She looks up and I notice her take a few more steps. “Always thought he’d go sooner.” She laughs nervously.

With a tilted head, I study her as she pulls a hand from her pocket with a cigarette pack now in it. She opens the top and removes one before bringing it to her lips and striking her lighter. It’s lightly drizzling so she cups the end.

She breathes in deeply, filling her lungs with toxic smoke. She looks up at me and licks her chapped lips after she removes the cigarette. It glows red between her fingers.

Fingers that used to tie my shoes.

“Did you get out?” she asks me.

I look from her hand to her eyes, almost trance-like.

“Yes,” I say so calmly it scares me. I feel as though I’m outside of my body watching this scene play out.

She nods and takes another hit from her smoke. “Good,” she says, releasing it from her chest. The

lines above her lip deepen when she does this, and the wind blows her silver-gray hair across her face. She moves it behind her ear.

The filing cabinet in my mind opens, and I mentally skim through the filing tabs until I land on hers.

Opening it, I go to the section that readsquestions for when she ever or if she ever comes back.

“Hey, Bethany, where did you go?” I use her name because at this very moment, I realize she doesn’t deserve the title Mom.

Just because you give birth doesn’t mean you’re a mother.

A mother stays and how I’ve always referred to her as that makes my stomach physically turn.

She looks at me for a moment before her sight goes back to the porch. She shakes her head. “He never fixed that, did he? I was constantly terrified it would fall on one of us and kill us dead.” She scoffs. “That son of a bitch,” she mumbles.

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