Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Hi, honey!” she says, chipper as always. “Sorry I keep missing you. We’ve been so busy this weekend. Your dad and I went to this amazing retreat with a few other couples we’ve gotten friendly with, and we’ve just been swapping this whole time, really getting to know—”
“Mom,” I say sharply before she can start to describe what I can only imagine is some extremely gross sexual stuff. “My apartment burned down.”
There’s a long silence. Then: “Oh my god. Sweetie, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I wasn’t here when it happened. But all my stuff’s gone. It’s all gone.”
“Did you have renter’s insurance? Maybe you can—”
“Mom,” I say, trying not to yell. Tears spring into my eyes again, but I force them away. Suddenly, all my anger and desperation pours out in a torrent, aimed at my mother. “I didn’t have renter’s insurance. I couldn’t afford renter’s insurance. Remember how you and dad convinced me that there was no money to help with school, so I took out all those loans, but then it turned out the two of you sold off the investments you were saving for my college so you could buy a house in Florida? So you could move there and turn into weird sex freak swingers? And now I have like $110,000 in debt? And I had to take the first job that became available, all because I’m desperate to pay my bills? Do you remember that?”
She’s quiet for a long moment. I stand on the sidewalk, fuming, breathing hard. It smells like char, sweat, and car exhaust. If I’m not careful, I’m going to start crying again. I sit down heavily onto a bench beside a busy street and put my face in my hands, the phone still propped against my ear.
Mom’s voice softens. “I know you’re in a tough spot, honey, but please don’t blame me and your father.” She pauses for a long moment. “What can I do to help? Do you want a little money? I can’t send much, but I could Venmo like fifty bucks. How’s that sound?”
Fifty bucks. That’s the extent of my mother’s help.
Fifty-freaking-dollars.
“No, Mom,” I say as pure and utter defeat washes over me. “I don’t want any money. I just wanted you to listen, that’s all.”
Why did I think it was a good idea to call her? I knew she wouldn’t do anything for me. Even if I begged and screamed, the best she’d do is send fifty bucks over Venmo. Maybe she’d empathize a bit, but my mother has never given me more than passing sympathy.
No real support. No real sense of love.
And yet all my life, I’ve craved it. Even when my parents accidentally told me what they’d done with my college savings. Even when they started talking about their swinging escapades. Even when my mom got drunk on wine coolers one night and admitted that she only married my dad because she accidentally got pregnant with me. That she never really wanted kids. And oh, yeah, she still loves me, of course, but she hated being a mother.
As if she’s not a mother anymore.
Now, deep down at rock bottom, I realize I’ll never get what I want from this woman.
“What can I do then, sweetie? Do you want to FaceTime? Oh, I know, I can show you these new tops I got online, they’re a little scandalous but maybe you’ll think they’re funny. A good distraction, right?”
“Bye, Mom. I’m going to go figure out this mess.”
“Sweetie, hold on—”
I hang up. I shouldn’t have called her. It’s just, in my greatest moment of desperation, I thought my mother might be able to make me feel better. I should’ve known better. She’s fine when things are good, but awful when they’re not. And right now, they’re not.
I stay on that bench for a while. It dawns on me that I’m homeless. I have nowhere to stay at the moment. The only assets I have are a bank account with a few hundred dollars in it plus the credit card Gareth gave me. That might be enough to rent a room for a night, but beyond that?
I don’t know what I’m going to do.
My phone starts buzzing. I figure it’s Mom calling because she realized she’s a massive piece of trash. I almost don’t check, but I flip the screen over at the last second and blink at the name.
It’s Gareth. I answer before it goes to voicemail. “Hello?”
“Hello, Fiona.” He does not sound happy.
“How did the meeting go, Mr. Kane?”
A long, charged pause. “We need to speak in person.”
“Okay, sure. Why don’t you come over to my apartment? Oh, shoot, sorry, actually that burned down last night.” I don’t know why I’m snapping at him. I’ve never spoken to Gareth like this before. But I figure I’m as low as I’ll ever be, so why not lash out at my fictional husband?