Page 105 of Bad Crush
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After rehearsal,I borrow Dakota’s car and head out of town. The drive to my hometown feels like a dream. I don’t remember any of it, and I don’t think I even turn on the radio.
Sitting outside of my mom’s house, I take in the pots of flowers on the porch and the matching white rocking chairs. The house itself looks like it’s been painted recently, and the windows are open, no dark curtains pulled tight across every crack, blocking out the light and any prying eyes.
I’ve been sitting outside for the past ten minutes, trying to work up the courage to go inside. Maybe Adam’s right, and I should talk to her. I don’t know anymore. Not talking to her feels as awful as talking to her. I should have asked Dakota to come with me, but I felt like I needed to do this on my own.
Besides, I can’t remember the last time I introduced someone to my mom on purpose. Not that she was around enough for that to have even been a consideration.
I don’t know what I’m walking into today. Seeing her inside counting money on the kitchen table, rummaging through couch cushions, or rolling change would almost be an easier thing to see than her making home improvements or knitting. Then I could get back in the car and leave without a second’s hesitation. But if she’s really changed, that decision is harder.
Try as I might to push away the longing for her approval and love, I can’t. I hate that about myself. I don’t need her. I’ve proven that by basically raising myself and moving away, going to college, having as normal of a life as I can. But deep down, I can’t remove that piece of me that’s connected to her. If I could, I certainly already would have.
She appears at the front door, probably trying to figure out who’s creeping outside. She steps out and smiles. With a lump in my throat, I get out of the car and walk toward her.
“Reagan.” She smiles. “Do you want some iced tea? I just made a pitcher.”
I open my mouth to say no, maybe scream how ridiculous the thought of us sitting together sipping sweet iced tea is, but I came here with a purpose, and I need to keep my composure until I say my piece.
“Sure.”
I sit on the front step as she goes inside. I can’t bring myself to go in. This house holds too many memories, few of them happy. A sad, lonely girl lived here, and I don’t want to be reminded of her.
Lori comes back a minute later with two glasses of tea and takes a seat in one of the rocking chairs. “I’m glad you came. I was afraid I’d never see you again after the other night.”
“How long have you been back?” I don’t bother with pleasantries. I come out swinging. I need to know if this is another one of her month-long attempts at a normal life before she disappears again.
“Three months.”
Longer than I expected.
“Janine said you’re working at the elementary school.”
“I am, for now. The pay is crap.”
I take a sip of the tea and then put the glass down. I can’t sit here and pretend to be having a lazy Saturday afternoon with my mom on the front porch.
“You can’t just show up in my life like you did. It isn’t fair.”
“I didn’t know how else to see you.”
“That isn’t an accident. I did what was necessary to protect myself from you constantly coming in and out of my life. Every time I think I’ve put it behind me, you pop up.” I thought this time, the years and distance between us, it was really over, and in some ways, that was so much easier to handle. Not expecting or hoping for anything.
“I understand that.”
“Do you? Do you have any idea what it was like for me?”
Her brown eyes widen and glass over like she might cry.
“You let someone else raise me.”
“Marge did a much better job than I could. You were better off.”
“I wasn’t.” Hot, angry tears fall from my eyes. I swipe at them. “She was a better mom than you, hands down. She made me breakfast in the mornings and remembered important dates, she never asked me to give her my birthday money so she could double it, but she wasn’t you. I just wanted you to get your shit together.”
She closes her eyes, and the tears slide down her cheeks. “I did the best I could.”
“Now you seem to be doing better, and that’s great for you, but it’s too late for me. I don’t need you anymore.”
