Chapter 25
Amelia
The weekend is torture. I berate myself constantly for what I said, for losing my temper and for potentially sabotaging my job and my ability to pay for Annabelle’s treatment.
When I check my bank balance, Crawford has put another large chunk of cash in there. But this time, it doesn’t fill me with elation or joy; it feels like a down payment before he throws me out on the street.
I stand in the kitchen, watching Annabelle on the couch. She woke up with a headache that hasn’t gone away yet.
I’m a selfish bitch.
I’m paid an insane amount of money for showing up and having sex with a guy I actually like. That’s hardly taxing.
Now I’ve screwed it up with some misguided sense of entitlement that he should have thanked me for caring for him.
And he didn’t even ask me to.
I stab the knife into the onion I’m cutting and sigh.
“Okay, what’s up with you today?” Annabelle asks. “You’ve been sighing nonstop for the last half hour.”
I look up at her. She’s so pale. My stomach flips.
“I’m just tired,” I mutter, wondering whether Crawford is feeling better. Has he thought about me? Does he wish I’d stayed?
Stop it.
I contemplate the sad little pile of onions I’ve cut up, my eyes stinging painfully. As I’m wiping at my eyes, our mother comes home.
“Hey, my darlings!” she trills as she comes through the door. She’s carrying shopping bags with a big grin on her face.
I check the time. She must have been at the morning Bingo session at the local hall.
I put down the knife, watching her in confusion. Annabelle sits forward on the couch as my mom’s eyes flick between us. She’s bright-eyed and lucid. I can tell immediately that she hasn’t been drinking. Her mouth always pulls down to the right when she’s drunk; it’s usually the only outward sign.
“Who wants pancakes?” she asks excitedly. “We can go out.”
There’s a part of me that wants to reject every attempt she makes at being a real mother. She’s been so woefully inadequate all my life that I want to hate any small offering of ‘mothering’ she sends my way.
But I just want someone to care for me today. I need her support in a way I haven’t in years. I can’t tell Annabelle what I’m doing for a living—but would my mother understand?
Annabelle’s eyes are wide and uncertain. Both women turn to me, as if I’m the de facto approver of my mother’s suggestion.
“Sure, I can drive us,” I say, and my mother gives me this big, wholesome grin I haven’t seen in years, clapping her hands like a schoolgirl.
For a moment, I feel pure joy. I’m going out for breakfast with my sister and my mom, and it feels like we’re a real family again. Annabelle pulls herself to her feet and goes to get ready as I scoop the onions into a bowl and wrap them up to use later.
The pancake place Mom wants to go to is a little drive away. We hardly ever go there because it’s way more expensive than the other diners in the area, but the food is much better as a result. My mom must have won big at bingo, she’s in a crazy good mood.
“Come on, girls, let’s go and have some real food for a change!” she says, laughing as I park.
I glance at Annabelle in my rearview, but she’s already out of the car, linking arms with Mom and walking inside.
I’m conflicted. It’s times like these that it feels as if things aren’t so bad. My desperate need to be away from my parents seems irrational and ungrateful. After all, they’ve put a roof over my head all this time, shouldn’t I be thanking them?
I climb out of the car, heading to the entrance. It’s been renovated since we were last here. A long, green sign declares it to have “the best pancakes in NY!” And at the back, they’ve added a small bowling alley.
The sound of the bowling balls clatters nostalgically in the background and reminds me of my high school days, when bowling was all we could afford to do.
We head to the table, my mom telling Annabelle how good she looks. She must be blind. Annabelle’s eyes are hooded and tired, and she’s leaning heavily on her cane.
I step forward quickly when my mother reaches the table.
She’s had her arm linked in Annabelle’s all the way across the restaurant, but, without thinking, she just slides into the booth, letting go of her without warning.
Annabelle nearly falls on her ass as her balance is thrown off, and I grab her elbow, steadying her.
“Order whatever you want, girls,” my mom says, pointing to the menu. “I can’t wait to have one of these fancy Nutella waffle thingies. I’ve always wanted to try that.”
Settling Annabelle in her seat, I try not to stare at our mother.
What the fuck is going on with her? She’s never this happy.
“Wanna share?” Annabelle whispers to me.
I glance at her as Mom begins humming on the other side of the table. “Aren’t you hungry?” I ask my sister.
Annabelle swallows, shaking her head. Dread trickles down my spine. It’s unusual for her not to be hungry in the morning. So far today, she’s only had a piece of toast.
Annabelle glances at Mom, straightening her spine, as she picks up her menu.
“Apple waffles?” she asks me. “I know they’re your favorite.”
“Get whatever you like,” I say, but she rolls her eyes at me.
“Apple waffles,” she says, turning to Mom decisively, who nods.
“You two girls sit tight, I’ll go order.”
“Actually, I have to pee,” Annabelle says, and I slide out of the booth to let her pass.
“You need me to come with you?” I ask. Annabelle shakes her head as Mom scoots out of her seat and heads to the counter.
I sit at the table, feeling a little bereft, staring at the parking lot. I can smell the waffles cooking from the kitchen, and I allow myself a moment of relaxation as I close my eyes.
The shuffling footsteps of my mother returning make me open them again as she slides into the booth.
“I like this place; everyone is so friendly.” She places the menu down and shivers, folding her arms on the table. “You’re okay picking up the check, right, baby?” she asks.
I stare at her, the joyous little bubble that had been floating around inside me bursting with a jolt of pain.
“Huh?” I ask stupidly.
“You’ve got your fancy job now. I thought it would be nice to treat Annabelle to something good for a change. She must be so sick of your cooking and being cooped up in the house all day.”
My fingers tighten over my knees, nails digging into my skin.
“I saw all those suits in your closet,” my mom continues. “Where did all that come from? We still need to pay rent, you know. Seems like you’re spending enough on yourself to be able to cover the bills for the next few months.”
She makes the face I hate as her voice goes high-pitched.
“Could you lend me three hundred dollars, baby?” she asks without a pause from one sentence to the next. “I have a credit card bill I need to pay, and you know how it is. I don’t get my next paycheck until Friday.”
I don’t speak. My insides shrivel up as I watch her hands move erratically around the table as she adjusts things, lining up the menu with the corner of the table, pushing away the salt shaker.
I don’t remember the last time my parents paid for anything to do with the house. All their money goes to booze. I had to take a third job at the start of the year just to make sure we had heat through the winter and now she’s sitting here brazenly asking me for money.
I have never felt rage like this; it’s as if my whole body is on fire.
And since when is Annabelle sick of my fucking cooking?
“Amelia?”
I meet her gaze, lightning rods of fury shooting through my veins. I want to flip the table and scream.
“Can you lend me the money or not?” A muscle twitches in her cheek.
“Sure,” I say, the word no more than a whisper.
She beams at me as Annabelle reappears, hobbling toward us, visibly struggling, and I force myself to stay seated, knowing how my sister hates being coddled in public.
My mother doesn’t know that rule, though, flicking me a judgmental glance and getting out of the booth to help Annabelle settle in next to her.
“Baby, you look so tired. Are you sure you don’t want something other than just pancakes? Maybe some bacon?” my mother asks her.
Annabelle is out of breath but trying to hide it. “No. I’m good, Mom. Really.”
My mother strokes Annabelle’s hair, and I stare out of the window, trying to calm myself down enough that I don’t punch my fist through the glass.
I think about the money sitting in my account, the freedom we will have once we’re away from our parents. I won’t have to pay for their rent or food anymore. If we find a small enough place, the total costs might even be less than what I’m paying now.
While my mother and sister talk, I subtly pull out my phone and check my banking app. As I stare at the healthy amount on the screen, my fingers start to tremble violently.
What if I’ve fucked this up? What if I’m fired? And what if Sterling House won’t place me with another client?
I want to cry, the panic rising up in my chest. Only a few days before, the numbers in my account made my heart soar with excitement. Now, it’s like a lead weight has landed in my gut.
“Amelia!”
I look up.
“You could at least be present at the table, put your damn phone away,” my mother snaps.
I pocket it, looking out of the window. I don’t say a word for the rest of the meal. My mother tries to engage with me, even berates me by telling me to ‘cheer up’. Annabelle frowns at me the whole time, asking if I’m okay, but I can’t utter a syllable.
Everything is falling down around my ears.
If I lose this job, we won’t be able to afford Annabelle’s treatment. She could die, all because I let my temper get the better of me.
If that happens, I will never EVER forgive myself.