She shakes her head at me. “Went to the strip club to ask around about you but apparently you don’t work there anymore.”
No, I don’t. Which is why I have the evening free.
I thought about it afterwards, about what he did, how he had me fired because he talked to George before I could. As in, I thought about it the next day lying under the covers in my bed while Snow kept coming to check on me because she thought I was sick. I told her that. I told her that was why I was staying home that day. Because I’d come down with something. It was a lie, but it wasn’t hard to believe, because it did look like I had come down with something. My eyes were all puffy and my nose was red. Plus I felt and looked so weak that it seemed like I could fall apart any second.
In any case, along with his black leather shoes, getting me fired was probably another bullet point on his long checklist of things to do. It wasn’t a secret to him that I never liked that job. It made me feel unsafe. I only did it out of necessity. He also knew that if he broke things off with me, like he was planning on, I wouldn’t quit it. So he made sure to have me fired. He also made sure that I don’t ever go back to it because I did call George when I could—a couple of days later—and he literally hung up on me. God knows, what he said to my old boss to make him so scared.
And I know, while on the outside it looks all cruel and assholish, he did all that to help me. In his own twisted way.Which is so very strange because he hates me now but also so very like him.
My safe space made of thorns.
“No, I don’t,” I confirm.
And Mom doesn’t like that. “Now, what areyouthinking? That was your highest paying job. How are you going to take care of your sister now? How are you going to keep this roof over your head, let alone deal with all the medical bills and everything else?”
Turns out, I don’t have to.
Because another thing on his checklist was to pay off my debts. Yeah, he did that too. Along with getting me out of my unsafe job, he paid all of my debt. All 102,327 dollars. This, I found out two days later, after my call to George. It left me panicked and I went online to check the state of my finances. But according to the person I’d called to talk to about this crazy turn of events, my debt was settled the same day everything fell apart. So basically,anotherbullet point. And I wish I could say I don’t get it but I do. I so, so do.
He did to help me. He did it because of our connection. He did it despite me sullying that connection. Despite me lying and betraying him. He probably hates that connection now. As much as he hates me.
I don’t blame him.
I just wish I could say thank you. I could go to him and tell him that he changed my life. He made it better. He made everything better. And that I love him. I fell in love with him—or rather, realized how much I love him—while riding his boot. Something he made me do so he could humiliate me and exact his revenge for me being a lying bitch.
“I didn’t like that job,” I tell my mother, and she narrows her eyes at me. “I hated it. I hated taking orders from the drunk assholes who thought just because I was smiling at them for bigtips, I was asking for it. They all looked at me like I was not a waitress but a whore. That job made me feel unsafe, Mom. It made me feel trapped. Like I had no choice.”
Such an interesting word, whore, isn’t it? Derogatory in most cases but freeing in others. While the rest of the world made me feel like a whore in a demeaning way, him calling me that felt like freedom. It felt like I could give wings to my desire for him. I could feel filthy things for him but still not actuallyfeelfilthy. Still not feel anything but beautiful in his arms.
Even on my knees, naked and crawling, he made me feel desirable. He made me feel like myself.
My mother scoffs. “You’ve always been such a drama queen. ‘Men look at me too much, Mom. Men want me too much. They touch me when I don’t want them to.’” She shakes her head. “You like to pretend to be a mother, don’t you? Well, that’s what mothers do. They make sacrifices. And so what if men want you too much? You’re pretty. You’re young. You’re desirable. Well”—she studies my face for a second—“when you actually make the effort, but stop with your whining, will you? That’s how the world works. If they want to touch you, let them as long as you’re getting something out of it. And you were, remember? Money.”
“Why do you hate me so much?” I blurt out then. I can’t believe I’ve never asked her that question. Not point blank at least. But I do now. “It can’t just be that I always hated Jeremy and didn’t want you to marry him. I mean, you know how much of an asshole he is. You know that. You’veseenthat. So what exactly is your problem with me?”
My mom’s eyes go hard then, her chest heaving with anger. “You don’t remember, do you?”
“Remember what?”
She watches me a beat before revealing, “It was you. You told him.”
My heart is racing but I don’t know the reason. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her chest jerks with a sharp angry breath. “You told your father about Jeremy.” I open my mouth to say something but she keeps going, “You let it slip that you saw Mommy with a man. A friend who came over to visit while Daddy was gone. You told him that we were in our bedroom for a long time and that you couldn’t play your stupid little game with me because I was busy.”
My mind is reeling. I don’t believe it. This is absolutely not true.
Is it?
So then why am I getting flashes of my mother in a robe, laughing and smoking a cigarette? And a man who looks like a younger version of Jeremy, laughing with her, kissing her. Why do I feel like I’m standing outside of my mom’s bedroom, peeking through the sliver of an opening? And when my mother saw me, she came over to chastise me and shut the door in my face. And I felt so much anger at her, such fury that when my dad came back from work that night, I complained about how she sent me away, without playing with me because she was busy with her man friend.
“Now, do you remember?” Mom goes on, her teeth clenched, probably studying it on my face, the realization. “You were the one. You ruined my life. So myproblemwith you, Jupiter, is that your father was the only man I ever loved. And I loved him so much, I gave him everything he wanted. Including my virginity on prom night, which got me pregnant with you. Since your grandparents were stuck-up assholes who went to a Catholic church, they wouldn’t let me get an abortion. And your father, hepromisedhe’d be there for me no matter what. But as soon as we got married and I had you, he forgot that promise. He cheated on me, twice that I know of, while I was stuck at home taking care ofyou. And then, when I wanted to get back at your father for what he did to me, you ruined everything for me.
“But that’s not all, is it? You wanted me to take care of two kidsalone. Without anyone to take care of me. Without a man. And I realize Jeremy wasn’t the best option. I always knew he was a drunk who cheated on his wife with me and an asshole. But it’s better than living alone. So basically, I hate you, Jupiter, because the moment you came into my life, into my womb, you’ve done nothing but ruin things for me. You drove everything good in my life away, and when I tried to make the best of it, you didn’t like that either. You fought with me, threw tantrums, accused Jeremy of looking at you wrong, like you didn’t walk around the house wearing your little shorts and tight t-shirts, loving every second of it. And now, you don’t even pick up my calls. I’ve been calling you andcallingyou because I need your help and you don’t even have the decency to talk to me. It’s like you want me to be alone. Youwantme to be unhappy.”
Ah, so that’s why. She hates me because I ruined her life. I drove the only man she loved away. Because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. Got it. I don’t know what I was expecting her to say. Maybe I thought she’d finally tell me shedidn’thate me. That maybe it was all in my head. Or maybe she did hate me after all, but only a little bit. And we could maybe… find a way back to each other. I could finally crack the code and make my mother love me. I had no idea her hatred for me was so all-encompassing.
All of a sudden, I feel weak again. Like I did right after everything had happened. I feel like I could crumble any second. And while crumbling and falling apart and sobbing are all okay things to do, I can only do them when I’m alone. I can’t let my sister know I’m going through something, and I can definitely not let my mother know. I need my mom to leave, which is why I ask, “How much do you need this time?”
