Page 13 of Temptress

The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach grew worse as I climbed out of the car and gathered the bags of groceries stashed in my trunk. It was the same twisting, sickening feeling I experienced every time I had to make a visit to my mother’s house, however, since she had been diagnosed with fibromyalgia, I found myself doing more and more for her. I brought her groceries once a week and cleaned her house at least once a month because the pain was too bad for her to do it herself.

The doctor had given her a medication that was supposed to help manage that, but she refused to take it. I wasn’t sure if it was stubbornness that kept her from taking those pills or simply that she got some sick sort of pleasure out of having me wait on her hand and foot. My gut told me it was the latter. She didn’t seem to have a problem getting herself to and from the bars regularly, or to the little corner store down the block when she was out of smokes. But I knew that pointing that out to her would only start a fight, and I didn’t have the time or energy for that.

With my arms loaded down, the handles of the plastic bags digging into my skin, I struggled with the knob before finally getting the front door open and stepping across the threshold.

“Hey, Mom. I’m here,” I called out as I moved deeper inside, the dank smell of stale cigarette smoke clinging to the air and latching onto my skin and hair, making my eyes water and my stomach lurch.

She rounded the corner, a lit cigarette dangling from her lips, the ash at the end so long it crumbled off and fell to the floor where it would stay until I inevitably came to clean her place myself.

“About time,” she grumbled, falling into the recliner in front of the television and picking up the remote. She began flipping through channels without giving me a second glance or offering to help me unloadhergroceries. “You’re late. I thought you’d forgotten about me like usual.”

I closed my eyes and pulled in a deep breath before remembering the stench of cigarette smoke. I stifled the need to cough and lumbered into the kitchen so I could put the heavy bags down and give my arms a break, only every inch of counter space was laden with dirty dishes and trash.

With a huff, I bent forward and set the bags on the floor. “I’ve never once forgotten about you,” I said, feeling the sting of her accusation burrow beneath my skin.

“Could’ve fooled me,” she muttered.

I knew my relationship with my mother wasn’t healthy. I needed to put up serious boundaries if I wanted to stop getting my heart smashed to pieces on a regular basis, but it was obligation that had me coming back time after time. That and the hope that maybe, justmaybe, one day she’d be the mother I always wanted. The one I’d so desperately needed growing up instead of this shell of bitterness and anger.

She’d been like that since my father took off. I’d been so little I didn’t even remember what the man looked like, but even though his face had faded from my memory, the heartbreak he’d cause my mom somehow festered and grew until it took over everything.

“You think I don’t know you’re ashamed of me, but I do. You’d love nothing more than to pretend I don’t exist.”

I tried my hardest to focus on my breathing, holding an inhale in my lungs as I silently counted to ten before blowing it out. It was the same thing time after time. The only emotions my mother seemed capable of directing toward me were guilt and misery. No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough. I was a lousy daughter, I didn’t care about her, and on and on. There was simply no winning with her.

It was a shot to the chest every time she accused me of not caring about her, but over the years, I’d gotten used to the manipulation. Still, that didn’t mean the pain wasn’t there.

“That’s not true. I’m here right now, aren’t I?”

She harrumphed. “Like you don’t wish you were somewhere else. Just like your father. I’ve never been good enough.” With that, she shifted her focus to the television playing one of the gameshows the loved so damn much, her way of basically saying she was done with the conversation, whether or not I was.

Attempting to defend myself would have been pointless, so I didn’t even try. Instead, while her show played on in the background, I started work in the kitchen, scrubbing dishes and throwing away trash. I wiped down the counters and emptied ashtrays of crushed cigarette butts. The garbage can was overflowing in the cabinet beneath the sink, so I took it out and cleaned up something unidentifiable yet nasty that had spilled everywhere.

When I opened the fridge, I was overcome with the smell of rotten, moldy food so nauseous it made me gag. I had to breathe out of my mouth as I tossed the spoiled food out and scrubbed the shelves and bins with bleach.

Of course, if I said anything to her, she would have said it was my fault for buying the fresh produce she let go to waste without a care. I knew it was useless to try and get her to eat better, but I couldn’t help myself. I could have very well flushed that money down the toilet for all the good it did. If it couldn’t be cooked in the microwave, heated in a saucepan, or slapped between two pieces of bread, my mother didn’t want any part of it.

Once the kitchen was no longer a pit, I stocked the fresh groceries and heated up one of her preferred frozen meals. I took it out to her, setting it on an old, tattered TV tray and took a step back. “Okay, Mom, you’re all set. There’s fresh food in the fridge, the pantry’s stocked, and I cleaned the kitchen. You need anything else before I head out?”

She hadn’t spoken a word to me in the past hour as I cleaned the messshemade, but at my question, she scoffed and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “No, you just go. Go and leave me here all by myself like you always do.” The sneer she gave me as she finally looked my way made my insides shrivel. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked at me with any kind of affection. All I’d seen from her for years was animosity. “Just like that bastard father of yours. Both of you always leaving me behind.”

How I could be anything like a man I didn’t even know was beyond me, but it was her favorite insult.

Having reached my quota on the number of insults I could take, I hooked the strap of my purse over my shoulder and bent to kiss my mother’s cheek. Just as she always did, she turned her face away from me.

I hid the pain that caused and said my goodbye, pushing the word past the painful lump that had formed in my throat. “Bye, Mama. I love you and I’ll see you next week.”

She didn’t respond. She never responded. And even though I knew that would always be the case, that tiny coal of hope inside of me had never fully burned out. Instead of letting it roll off me, it never failed to burn like a lash to my skin.

Without another word, I walked out the door, knowing that even though I shouldn’t, for no other reason than my own sanity, I’d be back next week. I climbed into my car and backed out of her driveway, pointing it in the direction of the one place I knew would heal the wounds my mother always inflicted.

While my mom’s house reeked of cigarettes and bitterness, Lucille’s flashy apartment smelled the same way her home always had, like Chanel No. 5 and warm chocolate chip cookies and love.

The instant she opened her door, the pleasant smells enveloped me.

“Oh, my darling girl!” Lucille threw her arms wide, the silky sheen of her long, flowy black and gold caftan glimmering beneath the florescent lights of the hallway. She pulled me into a hug that went a long way in fighting back those all-too familiar demons that always clung to me after a visit with my mother. “What a pleasant surprise. I didn’t know you were coming to see me today.”

We ended our embrace and she stepped aside so I could enter the small apartment of the retirement community she now lived in. It was decorated the same as her house had been, bold and loud and full of interesting things. Framed photos and movie posters covered the brightly painted walls. Two very heavy, very ornate curio cabinets held fine china and vintage perfume bottles—the kinds with the fancy aspirators—as well as more pictures and knickknacks she’d picked up from her travels all over the world.

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