Fallout (Crank 3)

Excuse me, but just who in the hell

do you think you are? You’re not

my father. You are my son.

The sky opens up. Wet snow splats

against the windshield. Very much

like how her words splatter me.

That vine again. And this time,

I let it go full bloom. “Fuck you.

I might have been your zygote.

Your fetus. Maybe even your off-

spring. But I have never been your

son. You have no idea what it means

to be a real mother. You think nine

months of discomfort and eight

hours of labor gives you the right

to call yourself ‘Mom’? Well, bitch,

you’re delusional.” I could go on,

but in the backseat, Leigh’s discomfort,

though silent, hangs heavily. “Here’s

the hotel. Why don’t you check in?

Someone will pick you up later.”

I PUT HER SUITCASE

On the sidewalk, come around

to open her door

, expecting

a major argument. She climbs

out meekly, eyes on the ground,

and I almost think about saying

I’m sorry. Almost. Instead

I open the backseat door, invite