Page 24 of Lawsuit and Leather

I pulled out my phone, exiting the building onto a busy street. I went to answer, but instead I stopped. Immediately, I was sick, gutted by the name that appeared on my phone. No matter how much I wanted to run, she was always there, if not literally, then mentally. The person I tried to avoid, the fear I ignored, the mother I never really had.

Claire.

CHAPTER 7

It had been a few weeks since I heard her voice, and honestly I was afraid to answer the phone. I always needed to prepare—both mentally and physically—equipping myself with the mindset to see a conversation through. I walked out onto the street as the sun began to set, while the phone still buzzed in my hand. I let it ring longer, anticipating it’d disappear and for the screen to go black. I guess I was just exhausted, already emotionally spent as a child, unable to help any further as an adult. I waited one more second, hoping I could care less than I really did, but couldn’t. The role of an eager daughter meant nothing to me now, I just had to make sure that this woman in Bushwick was safe, both from others and herself.

“Claire?” I answered, my tone inquired a multitude of things: what’s wrong, what now? I couldn’t have expected the moan in her voice, though I should have, the almost dreaded rasp was what I heard anytime her words echoed in my head.

“I guess you thought I wouldn’t figure it out, but I did. I always do.” She sighed, “You know nothing gets by me, especially things like this.” The explosions of an apparent action movie played loudly in the background of her call. She had left it on, almost as if Dad would come back home to his favorite film. I hated it, the sound of shots and explosions, the insufferable backdrop to their screaming arguments. I didn’t watch them, in fact I avoided them, probably why I barely knew who Alex Rivers was.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, shuffling in a crowd with a finger propped in my ear.

She laughed to herself. “You’ve moved in with Parker. Tell me I’m wrong.” The pitch in her voice was an anxious hiss. An accusation. Of course, no how are you, or I miss you. I wasn't surprised, this was our relationship, straight to the point.

“How’d you find out?” I sighed, more deflated. I kept this from her on purpose; I didn't need her voice in my head appearing in real life. I felt it enough, her own stinging warnings and fear.

“I didn’t know for sure, but now I do. Thanks for confirming.” Her voice was muffled, wrapped around what I assumed was another cigarette. I knew it wasn’t cherry scented, it was yucky and oily, the smell that burned my throat. “A letter I sent to you got sent back, apparently you don’t live at your old home anymore. I would have asked you, but what would be the point? You hid it from me on purpose.”

“Because you worry too much.”

“No. Because I know better.” She sucked in a drag of her cigarette. “Your landlord described Parker to a tee. A tall and built man, dirty gold hair and green eyes, helping you move boxes into a truck. I only assumed correctly.”

“Well, it’s only temporary.”

“I would hope so. Now tell me, what happened?” She pressed, but I wouldn’t give her anything. She didn't need to know about my job, how I lost everything and my business, and she especially didn't need to know about Alex. How would she react to a celebrity, a man who’d leave on a dime, much like her husband had? I couldn’t afford another provoked meltdown.

“Nothing happened. I found a better place, and my rent was up. I’ll move out soon enough.” I answered quickly, brushing away her questions.

“I don’t like it.”

“Like what? There is nothing that needs your opinion.”

“You and Parker together, it's not smart, and you should know better.”

“And you do? What have you taught me that I didn’t learn myself?”

“Everything on what to avoid, unless you want to end up like me, of course.” She coughed into the phone, pausing into a silent rest. To be like her would be everything I feared. I only knew her as two people, a recluse or an overbearing extrovert, there was no in-between. Both versions were hard to handle, complete opposite spectrums. “I know, I’m not mother of the year, I know how you talk to me, and I you, but please… be civil.”

“You love Parker,” I finally responded. “So what’s wrong?”

“I did love Parker,” she barked, annoyed by our conversation. “I loved him as the sweet boy he was. But is he that anymore? I’m not so sure. He’s a man, and we know what they’re capable of.”

“Not this, please.” I scolded, “Not everyone is the same, Claire.” I resisted the urge to mention Dad, but what I really wanted to say was not everyone was like him. I couldn’t though, not for her feelings, but rather my own sanity. “Why do you think the world is out to get me?”

“Not you, but us! Always has been, always will be. Parker is supposed to protect you, but I don’t think he can anymore. He’s lost his innocence.”

“Protect me?” I huffed, “Parker is my best friend, he’s been there for me when I’ve needed him the most. And you?” I asked, biting my tongue. “Innocence is such a ridiculous thing to push onto someone. What do you know about that? Where were you to protect my innocence when I needed you the most? I was the parent, Claire, and still am in many ways.” I pulled my finger out of my ear, pointing it to the ground as if she were below my feet. I couldn’t finish the thought, how she failed as a mother, but especially as a protector. I never felt safe; I didn't feel what I did with the Joneses. They say you couldn’t pick your family, but I say otherwise. I picked mine; it was Parker, Mama Meg, and Mr. Jones, they took care of me during the summers, the happiest time of year away from home.

“I did the best I could, and you know that. You had it rough, but now you're stronger because of it, Gemma.” She defended.

“Not because of it, but in spite of it. And if I’m so strong, then let me make my own decisions.” My curt tone expressed the impatience that came with her calls. Had this not been New York, people would have stared, but given the chaotic after work crowd, people were eager to get home and mind their own business. I needed to let her know I was ok; I didn't need her to worry. Worrying led to obsessive thinking, which led to doubt and fear. The last thing I needed her to do was lock herself in her room and fall into another spell. I remembered those moments too well, Claire had called them her ‘cloudy days,’ but for me, they were storms.

“Don’t be mad at me.” She said.

I refrained from replying, soaking in her words. I wanted nothing to do with her, and that thought made me sad. I wanted to love my mom, and in moments I did, but was never sure why. Perhaps it was an obligation of my heart, and though it was cold to admit, I could no longer compete with the exhaustion of our history. If I could stop caring, I would, but the truth was, I didn’t want her to suffer. I just wanted us to be free, both from each other, both from the trauma we’d lived.

I turned the corner of a busy sidewalk, tucking myself in the nook of a brick wall. The smell of hot pizza caught my attention, reminding myself of the hunger I felt earlier. Was Claire taking care of herself? Was she hungry? “Are you eating?” I asked flatly, ignoring her request to not be mad.

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