Page 13 of It Never Was

My mother didn't start drinking until after my father left us. I don't remember much about her from that time. I was only four years old. But I do faintly remember her hugs and her smile. She was what a mother should be. Till she wasn't.

She told me the day after my father left that he wouldn't be coming back. I kept asking her why and when he was coming home for days after she told me the news. I was confused and didn't understand. She must have snapped having to relive the wound every time I asked because she grabbed me by the shoulders and dug her nails in deep as she shook me, yelling, 'He doesn't love us! He doesn't love me and he sure as fuck doesn't love you! This is what men do honey, they take what they want and then they leave! Get use to it!' Pushing me away from her, she went to her room slamming the door. She didn't come out for the rest of the night. The next morning, she put a box of cereal on the table for me and a bottle of vodka for her. The drinking just never stopped.

Her eyes squint open, scanning the room. She seems to be looking for something she lost until she notices me. Her expression changes from puzzled to annoyed.

"Can I help you, Ryen?" She slurs.

"Just making sure you survived the night." I make my way to the kitchen, needing coffee before I deal with my mother.

"I don't need you to check on me. I'm the parent here."

"Could have fooled me, Sharry," I say as I place the filter in the coffee machine and pour the grounds Paul gave me to test out for the shop.

"Oh god! Here we go! I'm a bad mother, blah blah blah! I was never there for you, blah blah blah!" She is waving her hands around in the air as I finish filling the water into the back of the machine. I turn to her and sit against the kitchen counter. "You are a broken record, you know." Her arms are still waving around.

The coffee pot starts to fill, the aroma of dark roast filling the air and calming my nerves.

"You should get some rest." I say, trying to change the subject before it gets worse.

"There it is, you are parenting me," she spits out, opening the carton of cigarettes. Her hand brings a cigarette to her mouth. "Why are you here? Don't you have someplace to be?" Her words are muddled, her lips barely holding on to the cigarette.

"I'm off today, but I have classes later." I grab my travel mug and regular one from the cabinet.

"Greeeaaat!" She breathes out, trying to light the cigarette.

"I'll be out of here in a bit, don't worry." The coffee machine spits out the last drops of the brew. Grabbing the coffee pot, I fill up my cup, pouring some into the other one as well, adding a splash of milk and a spoonful of sugar to both. I grab them and walk over to where she is still slouched.

"Here," I say as I hold the mug out for her. She takes it reluctantly.

I snatch the cigarette from her mouth, once her hands are occupied.

"What-t the fu-ck." She slurs out.

"Don't smoke in here. You can go ahead and kill yourself but don't bring me down with you," I say, shoving it into my pocket.

"Little bitch," she says under her breath as she takes a sip of the coffee.

"You are so welcome for the coffee, Mom. You are so sweet to thank me!" I replied.

I walk back up the stairs to get ready. I don't want to be here. I can go to campus early and study at the library.

After showering and getting dressed, I sling my backpack on and rushed down the stairs, looking at my mother passed out in the same position she was in when I went upstairs. The coffee is carefully balanced on her stomach, her hand still around the base. I grab the coffee and place it in the kitchen before grabbing her and placing her completely on the couch. I throw a blanket on her and turn to head out. I hear her shifting behind me as I grab the doorknob.

"Ryen…" she mutters, making me stop.

I freeze, staring at the doorknob.

"Don't fucking touch me."

My throat stings as I open the door and slam it behind me, squeezing my eyes shut.

6

Ryen

It's been a week since Paul posted the now hiring sign in the window. So far it has been nothing but teenagers with no experience or college students who think they just have to put frozen food in an oven. None of them realize the shift starts at 3:00 am and they have to bake from scratch. This isn't a freezer-bought production. Paul is all about fresh and the best. He wants everything to be quality, Lisa and him would never want to change that just to save a few bucks. It is something I admire about Paul. He is probably at fault for my high standards in coffee and pastries.

I am stocking up the pastry case when Paul walks in before opening time looking just as frustrated as he did after our last interviews.

---