Chapter 16 Mom Issues
Sixteen
Mom Issues
A little later, I jammed a bunch of pamphlets and internet printouts into my backpack along with my physics stuff and went to the lobby to wait for Mom.
She pulled up into the loading area right on time, and I jumped into her sedan.
I leaned over the center console and hugged her.
The smell of her jasmine perfume comforted me.
She was tiny, my mother. Petite in stature, her features fine, and her hair always arranged with that fresh, recently blown effect.
“Hi, sweetie,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”
“Me too.” I gave her a peck on the cheek.
Mom and I had always had a special bond that I’d never had with Dad. Probably because she was the one who encouraged me to do the things I wanted to do without interference or making me feel like a failure. The same could not be said for Dad.
My good relationship with my mom was why I was protective of her. Dad might have made our lives a living hell, but his fraudulent actions and subsequent arrest had taken the greatest toll on her. Eric and I had escaped from home. She was still there.
We drove to her favorite sushi restaurant and found a spot to park on the street. My mouth watered. You couldn’t get this kind of food in the dorm.
The hostess sat us at a small table, and I took my jacket off.
“Don’t you think that shirt is a bit…” Mom flicked her gaze downward.
“A bit what?” I asked as innocently as I could. Mom was always dressed in designer clothes with elegant accessories. She was posh—slutty was far beneath her.
“Revealing.”
I looked down and saw the freckle that normally no one could see. Maybe.
“Adriana, I can see the top of your bra.”
She was right, of course.
Just then, the hostess came back with a pot of tea and two cups.
“Is it caffeinated?” It was after four o’clock in the afternoon, and that meant no caffeine for me.
“It’s green, so there’s a little.”
My mom raised an eyebrow at me. “You’re not still having trouble sleeping, are you?”
I was happy for a diversion from my scantily clothed boobs.
But this new topic might be just as uncomfortable.
When I’d left for school last fall, I’d told her I was fine.
I hadn’t wanted her to worry. Even though Dad had caused some anxiety-induced insomnia, I’d wanted her to think I’d risen up and overcome it.
“No, I’m good.” Another lie. Might as well. I was getting so good at it.
She lifted the pot and held on to the lid. “Do you want some?”
“No, thanks.” I put a hand over the cup in front of me.
She poured her own and then folded her hands on the table. “Is your second semester going as well as the first?”
“It’s going great,” I said, and forced a smile. She also didn’t need to know how poorly I’d done in my classes. She was used to me being a straight-A student—Cs and a D were not something I wanted to talk about, let alone admit to, even to myself.
The void in my stomach was not just because I was hungry.
“So, Mom, have you seen the news articles about the condos being built downtown and how empty nesters and retirees are gobbling them up?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. I don’t pay much attention to things like that.”
“I’ve gathered some info.” I unzipped my backpack, pulled out the brochures, and laid them on the table. “I think you should look into some of these. They’re totally your style.”
She stared down at the smiling faces and bright photos on the flyers. “Your dad would never want to move.”
“I don’t think he’ll have much choice in the matter.”
The waiter approached, and Mom rattled off to him the sushi rolls and nigiri we always ordered without even looking at the menu.
She looked back at me. “I’m confused. What are you talking about?”
“Dad has been charged with five felonies that he’ll be going on trial for in two weeks. The maximum sentence for each count is ten years. If he’s convicted and a judge decides to make those sentences consecutive, that’s fifty years.”
Mom gave me that deer-in-headlights look.
I reached over the pamphlets and squeezed her hand. “Mom, he might have to move to prison, without you. I just want to show you that you have options.”
She pulled her hand back. “Well, if you were still talking with your dad, you’d know that his lawyer has some solid defenses that show he’s not a criminal and won’t be going to jail.”
Ugh.
“In fact,” she said, “I think you should work things out with him before the trial begins.”
“No.” My tone was sharp. Sharper than I’d intended. “Don’t you remember high school graduation?” My heart drummed in my chest. Perspiration formed along the underside of my bra. It was difficult for me to breathe. “When I walked across the stage to receive my diploma and I was heckled?”
She frowned. “I know, sweetie. That was awful, and I still feel so horrible about it.”
“I didn’t dare go to the senior all-night party for fear of what people might do to me. That isn’t something a teenager should have to deal with. Ever. My life was ruined, and he is to blame.”
She sighed. “He made mistakes. He knows that.”
“But he’s never admitted to any wrongdoing.”
Mom shook her head and said softly, “Just because you make mistakes that you regret doesn’t mean those mistakes are illegal.”
“Well, the government thinks they are.”
“Your father deserves a chance to be heard, to defend himself. That’s what our justice system is about.”
I covered my face with my hands. Maybe I should cover my ears. I didn’t want to hear this. I wanted her to be as upset as I was. “Guilty or not guilty, I’ll not forget so easily. And neither will Eric.”
“Actually, I think things with your dad and brother are better. Did Eric tell you that he signed with an AHL team in Canada?”
It was like a vacuum had sucked all the air out of my throat and choked me. “Since when?”
“Since the beginning of January.”
I crossed my arms and tapped my foot on the ground. I couldn’t believe Eric hadn’t told me. I couldn’t believe he’d been talking to Dad.
“I think connecting with Dad would help you too.” She paused. “No matter how you look at it, he’s your father—he’ll always be your father, and you need him.”
I put my hands back on the table. “I didn’t need him before. I don’t need him now.”
“You don’t mean that.” She lowered her chin.
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, he’s paying for college, so, in fact, for now you do still need him.”
“I thought they froze his bank accounts.”
“They didn’t freeze his retirement accounts. He’s drawing money from them.”
An ache swelled in my chest. I’d wondered about that. “Tell him to stop,” I said. “I’ll take out student loans, whatever.”
The waiter appeared with bowls of miso soup and set them in front of us. I concentrated on the pieces of tofu suspended in the broth.
“You are not taking out loans.”
“But I can.”
She sighed again. “Ade, you need to hear him out. He’s very sorry about what happened.”
Mom retrieved a pad of sticky notes and a pen from her purse. After consulting her cell phone, she scratched down something, pulled the top note off, and set it on the table next to me. “This is his new cell number.”
I clamped my mouth shut, but what I really wanted to do was laugh out loud. My dad had made our lives total shit, and yet she wanted me to reach out and make amends with him.
But I had things on my mind other than just Dad. So I searched my jacket pocket for my phone and brought it out.
“I’ll put his number in here right now if and only if you take these flyers home with you.”
She stared at me blankly. “Honey, I’m not going to move.”
“Please,” I said. “Keep them just in case.”
She shrugged and started to gather them into a pile. “Okay, but you better start typing.”
My fingers flew over my screen as I entered my dad’s new number into my phone. It didn’t make me feel good.
“Promise you’ll read them,” I said, watching my mom stick the pamphlets in her purse.
She looked at me. “Promise you won’t delete your dad’s number the second I drop you back off at school?”
I nodded.
She smiled. “Then I guess we have ourselves a deal.”