Page 42 of From Asher, With Love

My mom sits back in her chair, sliding her butt along the cushion until her shoulders are resting against the back. She stretches one leg out and stares at me with hooded eyes.

She lifts her cigarette to her mouth, taking a long, slow drag before she quickly blows it out. “Where are you going all dressed up?”

Her words are slurred, but I’m still able to make out what she says. I look down at my shirt, not sure what my mother means by ‘dressed up’. I’m wearing one of theonly three shirts I own. This one happens to be in the best condition out of all of them. I guess if you were to make a comparison to my usual clothes, my mother could be right—this is dressed up.

“It’s Christmas Eve.” I refuse to meet her gaze, only focusing on cleaning our small kitchen. Our trailer is one of the smallest in the park. In all honesty, it’s probably considered more along the lines of a camper than anything resembling a home.

“You’re going to see that slut, aren’t you? What’s her name again?” She grimaces. “Charles?”

I inhale a deep breath and close my eyes, clenching my jaw. My teeth grind against one another, and the pressure builds in my temples. “You know her name is Charleigh, Mom… and she’s not a slut.” I’m trying to contain my anger, knowing my mother is only saying these things because she’s drunk. Charleigh has met my mother only once, on a rare occasion when she was not drunk. Only halfway there.

That was the one time my mother spoke kindly about Charleigh. Since then, she’s always made snide comments about how Charleigh’s family thinks they’re better than the rest of us because they make ten times as much as we do. For a while, I tried to keep our friendship a secret, but once I realized I loved Charleigh more than just a friend, I didn’t want to hide her anymore. I wanted my mother to know I’d found someone good and kind. I wanted her to meet the woman I was in love with.

Mom scoffs, raising her lazy hand to take another drag. “The rich and privileged are always the dirtbags. Trevor Keeler is no different.” She stands, dropping her cigarette into an empty beer bottle I have yet to clean up.

My mother’s comment about Trevor isn’t entirely false. Charleigh’s father has been having an affair with his secretary for God knows how long. Everyone knows it, even Charleigh. He doesn’t try to hide it, and her mother pretends hisinfidelity doesn’t exist. The fact that my mother lumps Charleigh in with her scumbag father makes the anger inside my chest boil.

Still carrying the trash bag, I walk over to the table and pick up the bottle. My mother’s hand wraps around my wrist, stopping me. Her grip tightens, the ends of her fingers turning white. This time, I finally look at her, realizing she looks even worse up close.

“She’s going to ruin you, Asher. Mark my words.”

Tearing my arm from her grip, I pick up the bottle and drop it into the bag. “No, Mom. That’s your job.”

I turn around and head toward the front door without looking back. It’s Christmas Eve, and I promised Charleigh I’d sneak into her bedroom before midnight. Snow is in the forecast, and I can already see the first few flakes coming down through our dirt-dusted window.

I sling the trash bag over my shoulder and push against the screen door. The sound of my mother’s raspy voice stops me from stepping over the threshold.

“How dare you talk to me that way?” she croaks. “I’m your mother.”

Steeling my chest, I turn around to find her now standing in the middle of our small living room. The strap of her tank top is loose around her shoulder, falling down her arm. It doesn’t matter that it’s fucking freezing outside and our trailer has no heat. Alcohol numbs the cold, apparently. But even through my frustration with my mother, it isn’t until I look in her eyes that I regret the words I’ve spoken.

Sadness clouds her blue eyes. They’re a shade darker than usual, her black makeup outlining them in dark smudges. My chest aches knowing she wasn’t always this way. I’m not sure when she changed. She’s been this way for so long, I can’t even remember.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I shouldn’t have said that.”

My apology is sincere. I’m sorry for every circumstance that brought her to becoming the woman standing in front of me. I’m sorry for not being the son she wants me to be. I’m also sorry that I’ll be leaving her in the next few months. I still haven’t told my mother about me leaving for NYU or my full scholarship. I want to tell her, but the bigger part of me knows she won’t understand how this will be better for us. If I can graduate with a business degree and start my own real estate firm, I know I’ll be able to give her a better life. I simply need more time. More time for her to understand.

“Whatever. Shut the fucking door. You’re letting the cold in.” She waves me off, falling onto our worn, leather sofa. She picks up the remote and turns on the TV, ignoring me, keeping her eyes focused on the flashing screen. “Go on. Get on out of here and leave me. Just like your father.”

“Merry Christmas, Mom.” I push the screen door open and walk over to the dumpster to throw out the trash. My mother’s comment isn’t one I haven’t heard before. Most nights she’s passed out on the couch before I leave to go to Charleigh’s, but on the nights she’s sober enough to stay awake, she always makes a comment about my father and how he left us for someone else. All I know is he lives out in California. I may not know him well enough to form an accurate opinion, but my mother doesn’t make it easy to decide who to believe. My father is a mystery, and my mother can’t seem to let go of the past.

The snow glistens as it falls, coating the town in a blanket of white.

My entire face is numb, and I’m covered in snowflakes by the time I make it onto Charleigh’s street. Her house is in the most upscale neighborhood in town. Large colonials run up and down each side, tall fences demarcating each yard. It’s my favorite neighborhood to take note of the architecture. At least at first it was. After I’d seen Charleigh digging inher backyard that first time,shequickly became the reason this is my favorite place.

When I make it to Charleigh’s, I sneak in the shadows up her driveway and tiptoe to the trellis below her bedroom window. I cling close to the brick wall and slide my phone out of my pocket. My screen is cracked and the top corner is blacked out. I type out a quick text to let Charleigh know I’m here, then quickly scale up the length of her house.

Charleigh meets me at her window when I make it to the top.

She immediately wraps her arms around me, burying her face in my neck.

“Oh, my God,” she breathes, tensing her arms, squeezing me tighter. “You’re soaking wet and freezing cold.”

“It was already starting to come down when I left,” I tell her. She loosens her arms around me and rises on her toes to kiss me.

I wrap my hand around the back of her head and pull her to me. She smells like she’s been digging in her garden all day, and I wonder how when the ground is frozen solid and there isn’t a fresh flower in sight.

When I reluctantly break our kiss, she presses both hands to my face. Her thumb grazes beneath my eye, wiping away a melted snowflake.

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