“Cock’s too small.”
“Fuck, Mom. Seriously?” I asked.
“You fucking asked. Keep your mouth shut if you don’t wanna know.”
“And yes, we were talking about the shop,” Lindy said.
“It’s a stupid idea. It’ll never work,” my mother said.
“We’ve already saved up—.”
“Lindy. No,” I said, shaking my head.
“Saved up what?” my mother asked.
“Nothing,” I said.
“You’re living in my house and under my roof. You’re supposed to be helping me with bills,” my mother said.
“And I do. I pay the electric bill, the water bill, and I stock the fridge. Plus, you drink for free. Whatever I do with my money outside of that isn’t your damn business.”
I pulled another shot glass from beneath the counter and poured her a shot. She threw it back, and I promptly refilled it as Lindy’s eyes grew wide.
“How much has she had already?” she asked.
“Not fucking enough,” I said.
“Okay,” my mother said breathlessly. “Let’s go see if his cock grew a bit.”
“I don’t think you understand how alcohol works,” I said.
“How do I look, Emma?” My mother gave me a drunken twirl and landed flat on her ass. She was giggling and hiccupping as a few men began to gather around her. She looked up at them with this disgusting desire in her eyes, and I turned my back so I wouldn’t have to watch. They were ogling over her like she was in some porno, and I wasn’t going to watch my mother paint herself as that type of woman.
“You okay, Emma?” Lindy asked.
“Just let me know when she’s gone,” I said.
I hated it when my mother got this way. I hated it when she told me I would never amount to anything. Mostly, I hated it when I prayed that she would somehow transform to be a good mother when she was sober, only to be disappointed time and time again.
My mother was going to get herself into trouble one day, and she was going to end up coming to me for help. And now, she had an idea that I was stowing away money somewhere.
Which meant she was going to go looking for it.
My only hope was that that I had pumped her with enough alcohol to make her forget all about this conversation.
“Okay, everything’s good now, I think,” Lindy said.
“You think?” I asked.
“I mean, it depends on what ‘good’ is. She’s leaving.”
“Yep. That’s a good thing.” I turned around and saw my mother hanging off the guy who had his hands on her hips earlier. I had no idea where the younger girl was, and I didn't care. We had bouncers at this bar for a reason so, if something had happened, then they were on the case. All I knew was that I saw my mother—who was two shots away from throwing up her guts—shoving her hands down the pants of a boy who looked barely twenty-one years old.
“I gotta fucking get out of here,” I said.
“I can take your shift if you want,” Lindy said.
“No, no, I don’t just mean tonight. I need to get out of this bar period. Out of my mother’s house. I can’t fucking stand it anymore,” I said.