Nip it in the Bud (Bunch-A-Blooms 3)

Neomi snorts. “You’re such a dork, Dad.”

At ten, they’re on the cusp between childhood and tween. I want to slow down time and keep them here. I’m not ready to deal with menstrual cycles, boys, and the loss of my coolness status.

“Were you good for Nana?”

“Of course,” Ilana says in a tone that screams duh. The hormones have already begun to change. Their new attitudes are things we’re navigating our way through, one mood swing at a time. My mom swears it’s normal. I choose to ignore her tone as they lead me toward my mom.

“Hey, Mom.”

“How was your evening, honey?” she asks.

I bend down and squeeze her. At five foot six inches with a slender build, petite features, and light blonde hair my mother looks more like a cheerleader than a fighter. People let the façade fool them. She’s a fierce warrior who has been through things that would break men twice her size. She’s my rock. The firm kick in the pants, the voice of reason, and the one person who refused to give up on me. Her tough love, tears, prayers, and strength brought me through some dark times. I owe her everything.

“It was good. I needed it.”

“Between touring and the girls, you’ve had little time to yourself. You have to make room to take care of yourself, too, bug.”

I smirk at the nickname. “I know, Ma.”

“Have you thought more on what we talked about?”

I nod my head. “Yeah, I’m going to handle it next week.”

“Good.” She gives a satisfied nod, and I turn my attention to the girls. My mom has been a life saver. She keeps the girls when I’m away, which can be a lot. I used to have a nanny that came in and helped until Mom decided to retire from teaching.

I take the seat beside her, and the girls return to corn hole. Despite their closeness, they have a competitive streak a mile long when it comes to each other. They’re ruthless when it comes to Monopoly, and I’m seeing their individual personality quirks and tastes emerge more and more as they grow older. I never agreed with Monica’s choice to constantly dress them alike with matching hairstyles and shoes to boot. I was more interested in finding out what they liked. It was one of the million things we didn’t see eye to eye on.

At times, I wondered if the girls were more like living dolls she could play dress up with. Because as much as she claimed to love them, they were never enough to help her get straight and stay that way. I couldn’t understand it. From the minute I knew they existed, my life revolved around them. All the more reason to make sure she can’t return and throw off their progress once more.

“You seem deep in thought,” Mom says.

“I’m trying to figure out the best way to approach her today. She can be obstinate. If you want her to do one thing, she’ll do the exact opposite out of spite and immaturity” I stopped by to see the girls to remind myself what’s at stake.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but it may come down to court.”

The thought of the publicity and the uncertainty it would cause the girls makes my heart ache. “It’s the last thing the girls would need.”

“Let’s pray she realizes that. Deep down, beyond the layers of bitterness, denial, and addiction, she knows the girls belong with you.”

I wish I still believed that.

***

Leaning back against the seat of my SUV, I close my eyes. I have a lot riding on this visit and no game plan. The words I attempted to string together don’t feel right. Thirty minutes in front of a video screen is cold and impersonal. It’s no way to talk about serious matters, but it’s the only option we have. I want to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. She’s been handed so many breaks. On probation multiple times, she’s been in and out of the system, getting short stints, and breaks.

I’m not shocked by her fifteen-year prison sentence. She’s served two so far. The first year, she kept her nose clean. The second year she was punished for drug use. Even behind bars, her addiction got the best of her. That’s when I stopped bringing the girls up to see her. Six months later, we’re at a stalemate. Today I’m taking the King. Lord, give me the words to break through to her. This entire family has been through enough.

I exit the car, taking only my keys and my wallet to make the search easier. It’s a routine I’ve grown used to. Anger flares in my belly. The late-night phone calls, ambulance rides, ODs, and everything else she’s forced on us has destroyed my ability to be sympathetic to her plight. Her real prison is the one she’s made for herself. All she has to do is unlock the door, step outside, and stay there.

I walk inside the building and up to the desk. Twenty minutes later, I’m seated at a kiosk with a pane of glass, and a large metal box separating me and Monica. Her dark hair is pulled back from her hair in a French braid, highlighting her overly thin frame. Dark circles stand out on her pale face. She’s a rundown version of the curvy girl with thick, chestnut-colored hair that framed her round face. I miss the full apples of her cheeks and the warmth that once existed in her cold, steel blue eyes. I pick up the phone.

“You finally done punishing me?” she asks.

“How am I doing that, Monica?” I sigh as my temples slowly begin to pulse.

“Staying away. Not giving me updates on the girls.”

“Do you really care about them?” I counter.