Page 30 of The Hang Up
They both smile.
We keep working, the conversation shifting to cupcakes, class schedules, and an order someone forgot to pick up.
It feels good. Normal. Like a life I want to live in.
The hours fly by, and before I know it, we’re flipping the sign to closed and wiping down the counters. I hug them both goodbye and head home, my feet sore but my heart full.
That changes the second I open the front door.
“Where have you been?” Mom snaps from the couch, wrapped in the same blanket she wears every day.
“Work,” I reply as I shrug off my coat.
“You didn’t come home last night.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Her eyes narrow. “You were with him, weren’t you?”
I don’t answer. I wondered how our first conversation would go after everything came to light. I guess I hoped she’d say sorry, we’d have a heart-to-heart, and she’d have a rational excuse for why she told Holden he wasn’t good enough for me.
Guess not.
“I didn’t raise you to act like a little slut!” she shouts. “Don’t you dare throw your life away for some boy who abandoned you.”
My jaw tightens, but I don’t rise to the bait. Not this time.
“I’m moving out,” I say, cutting straight to the point.
She blinks. “What?”
“I’m moving out,” I repeat. “Not today. Not tomorrow. But in a few weeks. I’ll help you figure things out. I’ll get your prescriptions sorted and help find a nurse or a ride service or whatever you need, but I’m done living here. I’m done being your servant.”
Her face twists. “You can’t just abandon me.”
“I’m not abandoning you. I’ll still be in town, I’ll still help, but you need to start helping yourself, too.”
“After all I’ve done for you?—”
“I’ve more than made up for anything that you’ve done for me!” I snap. “I’ve been here for over a decade, doing everything. And you don’t appreciate any of it.”
“I never asked you to.”
“Exactly,” I say, my voice rising. “You never asked. You expected. You let me sacrifice everything, and you never once stopped me or said thank you. I had dreams, Mom! And you blocked me from every single one of them.”
She stands, her hands shaking. “What am I supposed to do? I’m sick. I need help.”
“Not this much help! Even your doctors say you’ll have good days and bad and should be doing stuff on your good ones. You don’t, though! You never do anything. You sit and watch TV and boss me around. Well, no more.”
“I have bad days! I need help!” she screams, her face turning bright red with anger.
“And you’ll get it. But not from me. Not full-time. Not like this. I deserve a life, too.”
“You ungrateful little?—”
I walk away before she can finish.
Her voice follows me down the hall, yelling how I’m selfish, how I’ll regret this, how I’m making the biggest mistake of my life.
