“We are your parents.”
“No, you are my parent. He gave up the privilege a longtime ago. Is this all you told him?”
She purses her lips.
“Mother, I’m serious!”
“I didn’t have to say anything else,” she says cattily.
“What did he ask you?”
“Where he could find you.”
“And you gave him my hours for the festival, what else?” I say.
“Your address, phone number.”
“Mom, did you tell him where I work?”
“No, I’m sure he can find it on his own, given his profession.”
“Shit. Why is he doing this?” I ask.
“Isn’t it obvious? So you don’t go through what I did!” she all but screams.
“It’s not the same fucking thing!” I slap the arm of the swing, and she jerks.
“How can you be so cold, after what she just told us?” Rochelle.
“Because this is my life.”
“She obviously needs her family,” Rochelle says.
The look of triumphant that flares to life in my mother’s gaze stuns me. She’s more calculating than I ever gave her credit for. “You’re my mother. I love you, and I will always be grateful for every single thing you did for me. Problem is right now, I don’t like you or trust you. Maybe one day, when you decide having me in your life is more important than controlling what my life will look like, we can set up boundaries and reestablish a relationship. I’m sorry for the pain you went through. I won’t pretend to fathom what any of that felt like. If you ever want to get help, I’ll be there to support you one hundred percent.”
“So, this is what I get for thirty-three years of parenting? A dear Jane letter?”
“No, I’m doing this to your face. Your actions have put us here. I have to look out for my family now. My child will always come first.”
“Your biker too, right?” She sneers.
“If you really care for me, you’ll call Dad and have him call this off. There are plenty of people out there who aren’t happy with him. I don’t think he can afford to be making new enemies, or drawing attention to himself again, in this world.” I turn to look at my sister. “Are you coming?”
Rochelle shakes her head. “No, I think I’ll sit a spell,” she says.
Her choice isn’t lost on me. I would be surprised, but it’s always been this way, the two of them together with me on the outside. I hold my head high as I retrace my steps to the car, determined not to let them see how much I’m breaking down on the inside. The tears don’t start until I’m off the street.
My body shakes, and I pull off to the side of the road. I finally understand my mother better than I ever have and yet, I’ve never been as far away. Everything I’ve embraced is all that she hates. How can we ever meet in the middle? I won’t have a grandmother who bad mouths my child’s father. It sends mixed signals and makes the child have to pick sides. I want to provide the healthiest environment possible. I’ll have enough contend with just being a part of KOC.
My phone rings. I want to ignore it, but the ‘Bad Motherfucker’ track from MGK is for Skull. “Yeah,” I say.
“What’s wrong, where are you?”
“A few streets away from my mom. She—it didn’t go well. She called Dad. Told him about the baby and us. I don’t know what kind of picture she painted, but I can bet it was the exact opposite of the truth.”
“Fuck, no wonder he’s going Last Crusade like he’s Indiana Jones.”
“They beat her, raped her.”