Page 46 of Living with Death

“Because it’s so far-fetched that he would be interested in me, right? It must be my money. The money that no one knows about.”

“People have a way of finding things out, Mabel. He could have stalked you at that grocery store and discovered who your family is. Anyway, why is it such a secret that you have money? Are you afraid those people at that grocery store will turn their backs on you because of it?” She crosses her arms. “That’s it. You feel guilty. You know you don’t need to work there, and they have no choice. You’re throwing that job in their face.” She catches the burnt wall. “What happened back there?”

“Stove caught on fire.”

“What?”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. You could have burnt up in here.”

“Wouldn’t you be glad? Then you wouldn’t have to spend every waking moment worried about what I eat or wear or whom I fuck.”

“Mabel,” she says, shock on her face.

“Please leave.”

“You better not be having unprotected sex with that man. He’ll leave you in a heartbeat, and you’ll be stuck raising a child alone.”

“Mom, I’d like you to go.”

She huffs, “I came all this way to see you, and you don’t even want to spend a little time with me?”

“You saw I had company.”

“Well, he’s gone now, isn’t he? Why don’t we sit and have a glass of wine? Marcy’s son just got a divorce. He’s a catch and doesn’t need your money.” She sits on my sofa and smooths out the wrinkles in her skirt.

I frown. “I have zero interest in Don. He’s a gross womanizer.”

“Who cares? He’s rich and would treat you with nice things.”

“I can treat myself with nice things.”

“And yet you don’t.” She lifts the bag, pulling out the night clothes she purchased. “This is what you should be wearing. Not those nasty ratty things.” The hunter-green silk is beautiful. The top is like the ones I already have but don’t wear a lot because what’s the point? I’m alone.

“I prefer comfort.”

She looks at my sweater and jeans. “I can tell.”

I sigh. “Mom, I’ve had a long day. Can we please wrap this up?”

She stands. “Fine. It would be best if you had a new stove. I’ll go shopping for one tomorrow.”

“Do not bring me a stove.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She shuts the door behind her, and I lean against it, sliding down onto the floor. I wonder about other mothers. Do they make their daughters feel like shit, too, or is it just mine?

She believes there’s no way Azrael could like me for me. Of course, she doesn’t. She thinks I’m this fixer-upper. Another thing that needs changing.

“You feel guilty.”Her words replay in my mind. She’s right. I haven’t told Sam or the others about where I come from because I don’t want them to look at me differently. And perhaps I don’t want to see the change in them after they find out.

I know I don’t need that job, but it grounds me, or it has. I groan, bumping my head against the door. How could she hold her head so high when my father did everything he could to bring her to her knees?

My father.

He looked at me as though I was a chain around his neck, choking the life out of him. I don’t believe he left us money to secure our future. His parents did that. If it were up to him, we would have been left homeless. I get up from the floor and walk to the kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of cleaner from under the sink, I spray the smut and scrub it until the wallpaper comes off.

Chapter Thirteen

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