Page 110 of Why Cheese?
“They…had the night off. For a holiday.”
“What holiday?” My mother keeps pressing me tighter into a corner.
“A local one to celebrate a famous Polish, um…” I catch Brie’s painting and cry out, “Artist!”
It makes no sense, I know, but it’s better than the truth—more believable too. My mother, however, keeps tapping her foot in exhaustion. She glowers like she’s about to tear my throat out. Then she breathes deep and unleashes the “Vi-o-lette.” It isn’t the usual exhaustion bordering on broken glass sound I hear whenever she calls me. She punctuates every syllable like a knife stab to my belly.
“That’s it.” My mom reaches out to take my hand full of cheese and pants. “You’re done here.”
“What? No, I can’t go. The place needs to be cleaned before we open.”
“You’re going home. You’re leaving this god-forsaken city and selling this degenerate hellhole. Now!”
Every fight I’ve ever had with her flashes in my mind. Every time I gave up because she’s my mom and you’re supposed to honor your mom and do whatever she wants. Because she’s the adult and you’re just a fucked up kid. The weight in my arms grounds my feet. Instead of letting my mother tear me away, I pull back.
Her eyes widen, her mouth twisting into a sneer. She raises her finger as if to cast a spell and turn me into an obedient mouse.
Twenty years of swallowed anger and resentment boil out into one long scream. “It’s not a hellhole.” I didn’t put a lot of thought into the words, but the sentiment blows my mother back. “This is a…a fucking lovely cheese shop and you will god damn respect it!”
“What has gotten into you?” my mother gasps.
Four dicks.
Dear god, don’t say that. “Nothing!” I shout.
“Don’t piss on my cupcake and call it frosting,” my mother rolls out one of her go-to clichés to shut me up.
“That doesn’t make any goddamn sense. Frosting isn’t a liquid.”
Her dropped jaw catches me. Every time, I’d only say it in my head or whisper it behind her back. But no, I just blasted it in her face.
And I’ll do it again!
“I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to abandon this store. I wanted to come back here in the summer but you wouldn’t let me!”
“Is this about your degenerate uncle?”
“Stop using that word! He was kind, and caring, and he…he helped so many people. People you’d never even think twice about.”
She crosses her arms and glares into my soul. “You know nothing about the twisted, sick, disgusting things your uncle got up to.”
“Tell me, then. Tell me right now,” I challenge her. This is her chance to finally explain herself, to explain anything to me.
My mother waves her hand. “You’re just a child.”
“I am a goddamn adult,” I shriek and slam my foot to the ground. “And I deserve the truth.”
“No, you are a spoiled brat who’s lost her mind. Again.”
All the rage boiling inside of me catches and my face drops. I go still, struggling to breathe as she circles toward me.
“This is your brain rot, isn’t it? You’ve let the crazy take hold again. It’s got you running here in the dead of the night to sleep beside cheese. You’re out of your mind, Violette.”
They’re real. I’m not crazy. I’m not stupid. I saw them. I held them. I fucked them.
“We need to get you help. Prophet Jo—”
“No!” I slap her hand away before she can offer it. “You don’t want me to get better.”
