Page 8 of Snapshot

“Then he proceeded to call me an illiterate, uneducated cunt, and told me to use whatever few brain cells I had to transfer him to someone who spoke English. I had his policy details in front of me. He’s seventy-two years old.”

Mom’s jaw drops. “That was unnecessary of him.”

“No, Mom,” I grumble. “It was actuallyverynecessary. It helped me pull my head out of my ass. I’m not going to spend one more minute at a job that cares more about metrics than their employees getting bullied and harassed. It’s not only today. I have a dozen stories just like it. Every single day, I’m getting metaphorically spit on and slapped in the face. I’ll work the long hours. I’ll come in on weekends. I’ll even scrub toilets. But I’m not going to work a job where I’m not respected like a goddamn human being should be.”

Mom’s arms are still tightly crossed around her chest, but at least her foot stops tapping. “Lennox, as your mother, I want to crawl through that phone, grab that man’s cane, and beat him with it. But?—”

“Always a but?—”

“Also, as your mother, I am supposed to teach you about life. Yes, people can be awful. And I’m sorry, but you have to be more resilient than that. You can’t win every battle. That man is vile, but who is standing here without a job right now? I mean, did you get your tooth looked at yet? It’s been bothering you for months. And you’re twenty-seven, old enough where you need an annual pap smear and breast exam. You have to start thinking about saving for retirement. Social security isn’t going to do a damn thing for you by the time you can withdraw. You need to buy a car that doesn’t look like it could shatter from a light breeze. Lennox, you’re floating through life. Pitching in atFinn’s studio, these bartending jobs, dog walking…they are not real careers. I am so afraid you’re going to end up like your father.”

“Happy?” I ask with a heavy dose of snark.

Mom frowns. “Lost. Broke. Feeling guilty. With a wife who has to work overtime every single week to pay off his astronomical debt. I want to buy you a car, but I can’t afford to. Because of your father’s mistakes, I can’t help my baby when she needs it the most. It kills him, and it kills me. Don’t end up like us.Grow up, sweetheart.”

If my mom were a crier, I’m sure she’d be in tears. But she’s not. I think I saw her shed one single tear in my entire life. It was when our house got repoed after my dad lost his job and was blacklisted from the finance industry. It was a downward spiral from there with his hobby-esque coping mechanism. He didn’t go back to making money, just spending money we didn’t have. We lost my childhood home. We lost everything.

“Why didn’t you get divorced?” I ask point blank.

“Lennox.”

“What? I just mean on paper, not actually breaking up. Dad said divorce would’ve given you a fresh start from his record. Why didn’t you?”

Mom shakes her head like my question is silly. “Honey, marriage is so much more than paperwork. I’m committed to your father—his mistakes, his burdens, his pain. They are mine as well. I’m not going to walk away from my commitment just because it’s financially convenient to do so. I didn’t marry your father for what he could give me. I married him because I love him… Also, a little bit for his body, because your dad”—Mom breathes out a low whistle— “is sexy.” She pumps her eyebrows twice.

I glower at her as she snickers at my discomfort. “I would endure a lobotomy to unhear that.”

“Oh, come on,” she teases, “every kid wants cool parents who still have the hots for each other.”

“I assure you they don’t.”

This is the problem. My parents are too happily married, even through the wreckage of my dad’s career. My wildly unrealistic expectation of men is because of my stupid parents and their ridiculously healthy marriage. I blame my mother one thousand percent for all of my breakups. She’s the one who taught me to walk away at the first sign of disrespect, never forgive a cheater, and not tolerate a man who constantly talks over me.

It's worth mentioning that she loves Alan. On more than one occasion she’s forwarded me articles for beautiful, budget-friendly weddings for the money-conscious bride. If only she knew money wasn’t the thing holding me back from officially committing to Alan.

“You’re a better woman than me,” I tell her. “I would’ve had serious doubts about my marriage the time Dad took up breeding Yorkie-doodles.”

Mom rolls her eyes. “Yorkipoos,” she corrects. “I never thought I could hate puppies, but my house will forever smell like dog shit now.”

I laugh. “Mom, look, don’t worry about me. I’ll find something. Another grown-up job,with benefits.”

She blows out a sharp breath and relaxes her shoulders. “Okay. Come on,” she says, throwing her head back and gesturing to her car. “I want a double chocolate cookie.”

“Weak order. Everyone knows the raspberry cheesecake cookies are where it’s at.”

“Bleh.” She leads the way to her SUV. “It’s chocolate or nothing. Fruit doesn’t belong in cookies.”

“Hey, Mom?”

“Yes?

“You could be a real jerk right now. You got me this job, and I blew it. But thank you for not making my bad day even worse.”

She stands in front of me, placing her palm against my cheek. I nuzzle into her hand. She still smells like the same spicy, floral perfume she’s worn for as long as I can remember. “An old man called you a cunt, sweetheart. I think you’ve taken enough crap today.”

I laugh.Damn straight.At least it’s a fresh start.

Hopefully, it’s going to get easier from here.

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