Page 39 of Love Bank
Her mouth opened and closed a couple times. “Well—well, what was I supposed to do? I can’t get ahold of my precious child. Was I just supposed to go about my merry way? Unconcerned? Uncaring?”
I would have giggled if that performance hadn’t been directed at me. “Oh wow, that’s laying it on pretty thick, Mom. I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. I’ve been dealing with a situation, which as of today, is finally under control.”
“Well, I say, it surely is. Look at you.” Mom twisted as much as she could on the overstuffed couch and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Let me just look at you a second.”
She held a lock of my hair and her gaze tracked every detail my new friends had helped me with. The makeup, the clothes, the fact I hadn’t worn my hair down since sixth grade when a boy cut a piece of it off in social studies. Story was he had a crush on me, but cutting my hair lopsided was the world’s worst way to grab a girl’s attention. That poor boy had endured a lecture from my mother all about gender equality for an hour that I was sure went right over his bowl cut–groomed head.
I blushed a bit under her scrutiny, wondering if she’d see some of the motivation behind my change. While she didn’t have a problem with trends or makeup or even sexy clothing, she did have an issue with women catering their appearance to suit men. And if I was being honest, I’d agreed to the makeover just a teeny-tiny bit because I wanted Bain’s attention. Like ten percent. Okay, maybe fifty, but I wasn’t telling Mom that.
I was thirty-six years old and I didn’t need to explain myself to anyone. Especially my mother.
“I love your new look. Honestly. You’re a beautiful girl, always have been.” She gave me a winning smile and my heart melted at the compliment. “You better watch yourself around the men, though, sweet girl. They’re going to be crowding around, sniffing ya.”
And there it was. The man bash. I rolled my eyes and stood up.
“Men are not animals, Mom. They won’t be sniffing me. And I did this for me, not for men.” Just one man in particular.
Mom struggled to heave herself off the couch. I reached for her, but she batted my hand away and finally got to her feet. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were as sharp as ever.
“Mark my words. Most men—not all—are the devil incarnate. Especially your biological donor and my ex-husband. Just watch yourself. That’s all I’m saying.”
With that doom and gloom statement, Polly Eureka, man-hater extraordinaire, walked into the kitchen and made herself a sandwich. A headache was brewing, right in the center of my forehead. Had to be from all the strain of the week. Birds, men, and mothers.
My phone pinged loudly from my tote bag in the laundry room.
“There’s the first man now!” My mother jabbed her knife up in the air, the mayonnaise dripping off and plopping on her blouse. She dabbed at it with a kitchen towel, making the mess even worse. I rolled my eyes again and stomped past her to get to my phone. The woman needed a bib. Every single one of her shirts growing up had permanent stains on the chest area.
Amelia:Last chance, woman. Bonfire!
I turned the screen off and squeezed my eyes shut. A part of me yearned to run out of the house and dance the night away around a huge bonfire surrounded by friends. A place where I didn’t have to think about Bain and that look in his eye. A place where I couldn’t feel the pressure of my mom’s convictions. I didn’t know where that part of me came from or why she suddenly had overwhelming feelings she pushed onto the rest of us, but I liked her.
“Mom? When are you going to tell me about my biological donor?”
She was behind me at the kitchen counter, so I couldn’t see the way her mouth was most certainly pinched, but I could sense the change in the air. It was the black, icy cloud that hung over us whenever I brought up the subject, which meant I learned a long time ago never to bring it up. But this new, wild side of me didn’t care. She wanted answers, dammit.
“Lucille Eureka, you know I don’t like to talk about that man. He has no place in your life, so just let it go!”
I heard the knife clatter in the sink and then the soft soles of my mom’s Birkenstocks slapping out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Turning around, I saw the mess she left on the counter, too angry to put the food back in the refrigerator.
My vision wavered the same time the squeeze in my chest hit me. Maybe it was the fatigue from the day. Maybe it was the shock of Mom’s arrival. I just hated that she wouldn’t talk about him. Hated that she wouldn’t tell me who my father was or why he wasn’t in my life. Did he turn his back on her when she got pregnant? Did he even care if I existed? I had a thousand questions and not one satisfactory answer in all my thirty-six years. How could I know where I was going in life if I didn’t know where I was from?
I grabbed the loaf of bread off the counter and practically threw it back in the fridge. The deli meat got the same treatment, though I kept the cheese out to take a huge bite of a slice. I hated crying. I’d rather eat my feelings.
The wild child buried not as deep as I thought raised her head again and peeked around. Another slice of cheese and the tears receded. Lifting the phone, I brought the screen to life and texted Amelia back.
Lucille:Can you come pick me up?
She hit me back right away with an enthusiastic yes. I shoved off the counter and marched up the stairs, resolutely ignoring the closed bedroom door where Mom was currently eating her own feelings in the form of a pity sandwich and headed to my room.
I had some new clothes that needed to be broken in and tonight was the perfect night to do it.
15
Bain
Well, fuck me.
The moon was high in the sky by the time I made it to the beach for another bonfire with my new friends. I’d wasted too much time over at Lucille’s clinic, and then once I’d come back to the prison, I’d been lost in my lustful thoughts, having to rewrite emails three times before I got them good enough to send. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. She’d gotten under my skin and I couldn’t figure out why.
