Page 24 of Older

Despite neglecting me and acting as a stagnant bystander to Father’s violent attacks, I still loved her. She was my mother. And she wasn’t evil like him; she just wasn’t. She was broken, too. Frozen and dangling between being brave and going unseen. He was vile to her, and I never understood why she stayed with him.

“I spoke with Whitney Stephens.” Mom scratched the back of her hand, where a dark scab crusted over her knuckles. “I think it’d be best if you stayed with her for a little while. You’re about to turn eighteen, after all.”

Frowning, I blinked at my mother, taking in her delicate nose, sunken-in cheeks, and limp blonde hair, a shade lighter than mine. “You want me to live with them?”

“I said for a little while. You’ll be safer.”

“You…” A wall of tears blanketed my eyes, and I tried to swipe them away with my cast. “You’re getting rid of me.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” she scolded, her focus aimed at the itchy white sheets. “I’m trying to protect you. Your father has a temper. This is for your own good.”

“But we could go somewhere. Together. You and me. It doesn’t have to be this way. Leave him. Let’s start over again.”

Once upon a time, we’d been close. I still clung to fading memories of gliding on a swing at the playground, watching my legs stretch and bend as warm summer air kissed my face and my mother pushed me from behind. I was five or six, and she was my whole world. I was hers, too. We’d take walks, go grocery shopping, bake cookies, and read storybooks until the stars became my nightlight and guided me toward a peaceful sleep.

Those were the days when clouds were pillowy shapes in the sky that I’d love to count and name. Colors stood out through the monochrome swirl. Birds chirped and sang sweet songs, while innocence and fairy tales overpowered all the evil things in the world.

Yeah.

We had a few good years together before Mom took my father back and chose him over me. Chose booze over me. Chose everything over me.

Choose me, my eyes pleaded with her. Please, please, pick me.

She shook her head.

Just one little headshake and my world crumbled.

The truth was as obvious as the giant pink piece of plaster weighing down my left arm: she didn’t want me anymore. Didn’t love me enough. Had no desire to fight for me.

I let the tears fall.

“I’ll come visit you some time.”

That was all she said before the chair legs squeaked along linoleum and she stood to wobbly feet, disappearing through the curtain.

Mom hadn’t come to visit me.

Not once.

“My dad is coming over for dinner next week.”

At least Tara had parents who gave a shit.

I sent her a weary smile in the mirror as we got ready for school. Sun seeped in through the window while music played from a neon-pink boombox covered in years-old stickers.

Tara chomped on a piece of bubblegum, studying her reflection in the glass. “Dad’s really cool. You’ll like him.”

She gathered her wavy chestnut hair into a high ponytail and secured it into place with a blue scrunchie. Tara loved the color blue. Her bedroom walls were blue, her wardrobe was eighty-percent blue, and her fingernails were blue as she picked at the chipped polish.

I hadn’t met her father yet. Her parents weren’t together anymore.

To be fair, Tara and I had only become close this past year when I was at the park, and her dog, Ladybug, escaped her leash and came barreling toward the picnic bench where I’d been aimlessly doodling. I’d seen Tara in the hallways at school, but I was more of a loner. She was fun and popular and always had a beaming smile, while my smile was halfhearted, at best. I stayed in the shadows, nursing my wounds and hiding my bruises from teachers and classmates.

But Tara was bright.

Luckily, Ladybug had seen something worthy in me and dropped right onto my sandals for a belly rub on an early-spring day, claiming me as her new best friend.

Five minutes later, Tara had claimed me, too.

---