Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
“Like what?” I ask.
She sighs. “Oh, where to begin.”
I remain silent, giving her time to gather her thoughts. A part of me is obsessively curious about Anya’s past.
“She had a difficult childhood,” Livy starts. “Anya was always the parent, taking care of her mother instead of the other way around, already at the age of five when I met her.”
“How did you meet?” I ask, lifting the cup to my lips.
A fond smile transforms her features. “I was her grade one teacher.”
I think I understand. “So you took it upon yourself to watch out for her.”
She waves a hand. “All that is unimportant. What matters is that Anya had a pretty bad time growing up. Her mother is unstable, you see.”
“Unstable?”
“Mary has been addicted to pills and alcohol for as long as I can remember. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her sober. It grew worse over the years until finally, it became uncontrollable. I stopped counting the number of times Anya had to call an ambulance after coming home from school to find her mother lying on the floor, blue in the face.”
I grit my teeth when I imagine the scene.
“I don’t think those times were intentional,” Livy muses. “But then Anya started hiding her mother’s pills. Right in the middle of Anya’s final exams, her mother cut her wrists.”
Lowering the cup, I let that sink in.
“Anya was a promising student, so I helped her to apply for a bursary at the University of New York City. At the night of her prom, Mary tried to suffocate herself with a plastic bag taped around her neck. On the day the letter arrived informing Anya the scholarship had been granted, Mary climbed onto the roof of their house after downing a bottle of vodka and shouted for all the neighborhood to hear that she was jumping to her death.” Livy scoffs. “All she achieved was a broken leg.”
“She sabotaged her daughter’s future.”
“That’s not the worst. The final straw was when she lit a candle, opened the gas in the kitchen, and nearly blew both of them to pieces. I still don’t know how Anya got them out in time. Mary was fighting her like a wild animal, scratching Anya’s arms and face as Anya tried to calm her while their house burned to the ground.”
Fuck. And I thought I had it bad.
“Anya had to give up the scholarship and get a job. She found them a small apartment in Brooklyn. Mary always refused to see a psychologist, but this time, Anya didn’t take no for an answer.” Livy takes a deep breath. “For a while, Mary seemed to be getting better, but that only lasted until she started drinking again. Then the whole cycle repeated.” Sighing again, she continues, “Anya resorted to searching the apartment for alcohol and pills on a daily basis. She had no choice but to declare her mother incompetent and limit her access to money. As long as Mary had a few pennies in her pocket, she’d always spend it on liquor and pills.”
I’m a mean motherfucker, but the sound of that does something to me. Without having met Mary Brennan, I already feel like killing her.
“Where was her father in all of this?” I ask as my gut twists with anger.
“I don’t think Mary knows who Anya’s father is. Anyway, there was never a paternal figure in Anya’s life. She had no one to rely on but herself.” She takes a sip of tea and frames the cup between her palms. “What was I saying? Yes, the money. Mary accused Anya of stealing her money and abusing her. The psychologist suggested a rehabilitation center, saying it was the only possibility Anya had left. These centers are expensive, and Anya barely made ends meet. She took care of her mother until she was forced to admit that she couldn’t keep her or her mother safe. She knew she had to take drastic measures when Mary set her bed on fire while she was sleeping in it.”
I squeeze the cup so hard it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. “She did what?”
“While Anya was putting out the fire, Mary stole her purse from her bag, walked to the gas station wearing nothing but a flimsy nightgown, and spent every last penny on liquor.” She pauses to look at me. “How’s your tea? Do you like it?”
I take a sip and barely stop myself from pulling a face. The brew is bitter and heavy with oxalic acid, making it feel as if my teeth sprouted hair. “Very nice.”
“Good.” Her mouth pulls into an O. “Oh no. I forgot to pour it like they do in the ritual. That’s what you get for being old. This forgetfulness creeps up on me when I expect it the least.” Leaning over the table, she grabs the cup from my hands. “I’ll have to throw this out and start over.”