Page 99 of Ship Happens
When the waiter returns with my wine, he asks if I’d like to order anything while I wait. My appetite has taken a sudden downward turn, so I decline. Anxiety takes up too much space in my stomach for me to hold anything else. If I try, I’ll likely expel it from one end or the other.
The door finally creaks open after several tense minutes, and my mother appears. She’s too busy fussing with some stain on her camel-colored blouse to notice my presence, but when she finally looks up, I couldn’t have prepared myself for the shock on her face. She looks as if she’s seen a ghost. How fitting.
“I take it you weren’t expecting me?” I try to temper my voice, but it comes out shaky. After clearing my throat, I try again, and I’m pleased when I sound more sure of myself. “We set the date in advance, and I never miss a date at Deluca’s.”
She schools her face, reining in the brief slip of emotion that is so unlike her. “I wasn’t sure you’d return at all, but I’m glad you have. How was your trip?”
No smiles are forced on her end. She strides to the table and sits as if nothing is amiss.
“The trip was eventful. What I can’t figure out is who sent me, though. King said it wasn’t him.”
“King said it wasn’t him, huh? I’d like to meet that smug piece of shit and give him a swift kick in the ass.”
“He said it wasn’t his place to answer every question. He said I should ask you.”
My mother scoops up her wineglass and downs the remains. “What does it matter now? You survived and you completed your mission.”
“So why do you sound so disappointed?” My stomach lurches as the question fires from my mouth. I can’t help it. King tried to warn me, and Jim even hinted that my mother is someone I’m not that familiar with, but experiencing it now is a shock to my system.
How long have I lived with this stranger? Why haven’t I noticed her coldness before now? It has nothing to do with a lack of affection and everything to do with a lack of give a fuck. I’ve made excuses for this woman’s unfeeling demeanor my entire life, and now I see her for what she truly is.
She glances around, looking anywhere but at me. “Where is the waiter? I need more wine.”
“Mom, who sent me on the cruise?”
“I told you, none of this matters. I’m tired of the questions.”
“Who sent me?”
She finally looks at me. “I did. I sent you. There. Are you happy?”
My world tries to tilt off of its axis, but I grip the table and hold steady. If I want answers, I’ll need to keep my composure.“King said I was bait. Who were you trying to bait out? And why couldn’t you tell me?”
“What does it matter now? It didn’t work, did it? Daddy didn’t come save his little lamb.” With a guttural scream, she turns and launches her wineglass at the empty fireplace. The glass explodes when it connects with the marble. “I just want to see him once more, to ask him why I wasn’t enough. Why wasn’t I enough? Why?”
My grip on the table tightens. My mother sent me into a dangerous situation in an attempt to bait out my serial-killer father so that she could get some fuckingclosure? As a woman, I get it. That ghosting shit is fucking annoying. But did she ever love me as a daughter, or was I always her little bargaining chip?
“I never wanted a child. In fact, I made an appointment to get rid of you the moment I learned I had a filthy parasite inside me. That’s when I learned your father’s little secret. That he has a weakness, and it’s his disgusting offspring.” She swipes her nose and shakes her head, sending her short gray hair wobbling. “He showed up at the clinic and begged me to keep you. It was the only time I saw fear in that man’s eyes, though I never saw him again after that. Not for lack of trying.”
“The . . . skydiving lessons weren’t because you thought five-year-olds needed life experiences?”
My mother scoffs and folds her arms over her chest. “I’m surprised it took you this long to figure out that I’ve been putting you in harm’s way as often as possible. And look what good it’s done me. I have nothing to show for it, and you’re still here.”
I didn’t see it because I didn’t know I was supposed to look. A mother should care about her child. I took that at face value.
“Mom, I?—”
“I think you can stop calling me that. Though I gave birth to you, I have no attachments, so you can free yourself from yoursas well.” She drops her forehead to the table and waves me away. “Leave. And tell the waiter to bring more wine.”
Now I understand why King was adamant that I leave my service pistol behind. Now I know why he needed to remind me that taking this kill wouldn’t be authorized. Because if that cruise taught me anything, it’s that murder is definitely a fucking option.
The butter knife gleams, practically begging me to reach out and grab it so that I can ram it into my mother’s spine. I suddenly wish I was back on the boat, with one million torture options at my disposal and a lack of moral compass for as far as the eye can see.
I rise to leave. That’s when I hear a bit of shuffling within the massive wardrobe at the back of the room. My mother’s head pops up from the table, and we’re both shocked when Cat and Bennett stumble from the doors as they fly open.
“Lady, you’re a real piece of shit,” Bennett says, “and that’s saying something, coming from me.”
“What the fuck are you two doing in here?” a deep British voice demands.
