Bad Boy Rich

For my mom to be taken care of.

And for my safe return home.

The sound of a horn beeps at the end of the driveway. Mom’s cousin, Larry, sits in his truck, parked out front with Mom and Flynn inside. I turn back around and touch Liam’s scraggy hair one more time, before letting go and walking away. I refuse to turn back, but by the time I am sitting in the truck beside Flynn, I stare out the window to catch that last glimpse.

He wore a smile like a badge of honor but his eyes told a different story. I could promise this man many things but my fear drove my thoughts and the truth was, I had no idea what the next twelve months would hold.

The drive was relatively quiet; small talk about Alaskan history and my grandparents’ migration from Russia. The exit to the airport is only a few miles ahead and before I could blink an eye—we were parked in Departures. Larry unloads our bags with Flynn assisting as I stand watching, swallowing the pain that crawled inside me and crippled my words.

Flynn wasn’t one to show emotion, but when he wrapped his arms around Mom, the little boy inside of him came out. His tall, lanky frame almost relied on her for support, resting his head awkwardly on her shoulder while she whispered into his ear.

She always had a soft spot for him; her only son, her baby. He pulls away with bloodshot eyes, mouth twisted while mumbling goodbye and busying himself with our luggage.

There’s chaos around us, people leaving, saying goodbye to their loved ones. Some smiling, some laughing, those that let their tears fall freely while holding onto each other tight. A couple that embrace while jamming their tongues down each other’s throats…

“You’ve got my details, where we’ll be staying,” I say quietly.

Mom smiles softly, caressing my cheek with the back of her hand. She always wore this ring: old gold with an emerald stone in the middle. It had belonged to my great-great grandmother and had been given to her by some queen in Europe. As a child, I would lay by Mom’s side and fantasize wearing the ring, planning the moment when she would leave it on her dresser and I could slip it on wishing it was like Cinderella’s glass

slipper. It never happened; she wore it every day and never took it off.

“Yes, I’ve got your details and you know where to find me. Did you pack your sun hat? The Californian sun is awfully strong.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“What about your sweaters? The night air may be chilly.”

“Yes, Mom. I’m not sure if I should be doing this, in fact, I know that we shouldn’t be doing this,” I blurt out the words that were trapped earlier, ignoring our idle chit chat about appropriate weather attire.

Despite my earlier acceptance of the situation, the reality was hard and cold, knocking me back and forth.

“You promised me you and Flynn would do this. Live your life, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’ll have the right people around me.”

“But maybe we should wait, you know, get you settled, then go.”

“Larry and Aunt Nellie will help me get settled. Besides, your interview is in two days and this is your final round. You passed all the first interviews with flying colors. They love you and haven’t even met you. I know this will work out for you, Milly.”

I knew she wouldn’t be fine—that’s what hurt the most. Relying on other people to take care of her, it was their paid job. They wouldn’t be doing it out of love like we would and all of a sudden—the guilt hits me. The pain I had put my mother through, raising a teenage daughter that was fixed on making everyone’s life hell because she had no clue that her own mother was already living a nightmare.

I owed her this.

For my mistakes.

My arms follow Mom’s actions, wrapped around her while we stood holding onto each other without saying anything. My grip is tight, not wanting to let go, remembering this moment, remembering her smell, the way her grey hair was always neatly tied up in a bun and how I would tell her that she needed to let it out since it was beautiful.

“You need to go now, honey, you don’t want to miss that flight.”

I walk away trying my best to hold it in, and as my steps make us further apart and reach the automatic doors, I turn back around one more time and see her standing by the truck. The smile that she wore earlier is no longer there; replaced by sadness, confusion, as if she didn’t know where she was or what she was doing. If anything was going to break my heart—it would be that image of her feeling alone.

Dropping my suitcase—causing a loud bang that people jump in shock over—I run fast, throwing myself into her arms just like Flynn but this time I sob. Sob so deeply, crying into her shoulders, snot coming out of my nose and I didn’t care who could see. I didn’t care what people thought of me. I just wanted to hug her because I didn’t know how she would feel when I came back. I didn’t know if I was coming back to the same woman.

Most importantly, I didn’t know if she would ever remember my name again.

She pulls away slowly, her eyes full of tears threatening to fall. Despite her strong will, one escapes, a tear that falls graciously onto the smile she wore before.

“Do this please, for me, just do this for me,” she begs with exhaustion. “It’s all I ask of you. If anything changes, I promise you I will be the first to call you to come back.”

I had to hold onto her words and reluctantly let go, Flynn calling my name one more time as the announcement warns us that check-in time is almost closing.