Chapter 8
Zoya~
“Did you know that there’s an educational salon just over on Disharde Street?” my mother asked, choosing to forget all about our argument the other day. “They opened up about six months ago.”
“No,” I answered. “I wasn’t aware.”
I usually skipped dinner because I was working, so I tried my best to eat a decent lunch before I went to work, but the weeks in between paydays always felt a little strained.
My mother really felt that the money left over from Uncle Armen was going to last forever, and so she didn’t do moderation.
She ate whenever she was hungry, she bought whatever she needed, and she didn’t care that there was virtually nothing left in the estate account anymore.
“Well, there is, and their rates are very cheap since they only have students working there,” she went on. “So, I was thinking that it’s time for some self-care.”
I stared down at my sad bologna sandwich, and I must be close to starting my period, because anger hit me faster than it normally did. Usually, I was able to dismiss my mother’s careless ramblings, but this was just too much too soon after just having argued with her a couple of days ago.
“Self-care?” I echoed as I turned around to look at her.
“Yes,” she replied primly. “Every woman needs to take some time for herself, and you’d be surprised at how better you’ll feel after some pampering.”
“Well, I can’t afford pampering, Mother,” I bit out. “I’m too busy trying to pay the bills.”
“Oh, stop it,” she huffed. “What difference does a few dollars make in the way of the bills?”
My eyes widened with her audacity. “Weren’t you just lecturing me about our late notices the other day? What happened to it not being the thing to pay your bills late?”
She bristled a bit, but I didn’t care. “While that is all still true, your uncle would have wanted me to treat myself with the money that he left us.”
“Are you insane?” I squawked. “Uncle Armen wanted you to always have a roof over your head, that’s why he took care of you. He never cared about your salon appointments.”
“No,” she argued. “Armen wanted me to be happy, Zoya. So, what better way to spend the last of the money than to make myself feel better about the situation that we’re in.”
That stopped me.
“What? What did you say?”
“I’ve closed out the estate account,” she said, surprising me but really not. “There was only three-hundred dollars left, so why keep it open?”
There was only three-hundred dollars left.
Out of the one-hundred and twenty-six-thousand dollars that Uncle Armen had left us after the taxes and whatnot had been cleared, my mother had only three-hundred of it left, and she wanted to spend it all on a spa day for herself.
Even after putting all of my money to this house, even after refinancing to make the monthly mortgage payments lower, even after me eating bologna fucking sandwiches for the better part of a year, we had nothing left.
We had fucking nothing.
Tears hit the back of my eyes in an enraged defeat that was enough to make me want to just run away from life.
That money was supposed to have been used for emergencies only, but because I’d wanted to think the best of my mother, I hadn’t monitored her withdrawals, thinking that she’d eventually put our best interests above her spoiled wants.
I also wanted to throw a million angry questions at her, but what for?
Yelling at her, demanding answers...none of it would bring the money back.
Nothing I did or said would make the money magically reappear in the account.
As of right now, all we had to our names was the money that my mother was going to waste on herself and my paycheck from Ruby’s.
Nevertheless, despite the weight that she just put on my shoulders, I asked, “So, what’s the plan once you spend all that money on yourself, Mom?”
“What are you talking about?”
“To pay the bills,” I clarified. “What’s the plan to pay the bills?”
“I thought we discussed that already,” she replied breezily. “Aren’t you looking into getting a second job?”
“No,” I answered firmly, doing my best not to lose my shit. “I am not looking for a second job, nor am I going to.”
“What are you talking about?” she gasped. “How are we expected to survive then?”
“You need to get a job,” I said, finally putting away the kid gloves once and for all. “If you have so little consideration for me that you’d take our last three-hundred dollars to spend on a spa day for yourself, then I no longer feel compelled to support you.”
“How dare you,” she seethed. “After I begged Aurora Korolev to keep you safe, you’re going to treat me this way?”
“What way?” I almost yelled. “Getting a job? Making you financially responsible for yourself? Asking you to help out? What is so wrong with that?”
“Because I deserve better,” she replied haughtily.
What?
“Better than what?” I bit out. “Are you seriously standing there, telling me that you’re too good to work?”
“I was meant for a better life than this, Zoya,” she said, and I honestly didn’t know what to say to that.
I stared at my mother, wondering how I could have been so wrong about her.
My entire life, she’d been happy, supportive, considerate, lively, and I’d never known anything else.
I’d always thought that I’d had the perfect mother, and up until this past year, my memories of her had all been good ones.
They’d been ones filled with laughter and companionship.
We’d been so close, and our lives had been ideal.
Yeah, we hadn’t been lottery-rich, but we’d always had more than enough.
So, to hear and see her turn into a person that I didn’t recognize because she was no longer being kept in the lifestyle that she’d become accustomed to was insane.
I could hardly credit that the person standing in front of me was the same woman that’d been so happy for me when I’d first moved out on my own, being my biggest cheerleader.
It was so disappointing to learn that she’d only been happy because Uncle Armen had been paying all her bills, giving her a carefree lifestyle that she hadn’t earned.
Other than her husband leaving her with a small child to raise, my mother hadn’t ever done anything to deserve everything that my uncle had done for her.
“Well, your belief that you’re cut out for something more than working for a living, that’s not the reality right now, Mom,” I told her.
“Uncle Armen is gone. Uncle Armen is gone, and I’m sorry that you’re still struggling with the loss, but he’s gone.
He’s gone, and he is no longer here to restock the money that you’ve spent.
So, this is where we are, and you need to accept it. ”
“So, what?” she hissed. “You’re going to let me become homeless? You’re going to let me starve?”
I wanted to cry.
I was so fucking tired, and she was openly manipulating my love for her without any shame.
She didn’t care about the emotional and mental damage that she was creating for me right now.
She only cared about herself, and it was breaking my heart every second that I stood here.
I didn’t know this woman, and if she wasn’t my mother, I wouldn’t want to know her.
“No,” I answered, but only because I didn’t have a better answer right now. “I’m going to continue to go to work, earn my paycheck, and pay the bills to the best of my ability.”
“And what about me?”
“That’s up to you,” I told her. “If you don’t sell the house, then we continue to live here, eat here, and be grateful to have gas and electricity. If you do sell the house, then whatever happens after that is up to you, Mom.”
She bristled again, clearly upset that I hadn’t caved in the way that she’d been hoping for. “I think this is a discussion better left for when you’re not feeling so emotional.”
“Yeah, because this is all my fault,” I drawled out.
“I didn’t say that this was all your fault,” she shot back. ‘However, you could learn how to be a little bit more grateful for all that I’ve done for you.”
“I am grateful for all that you’ve done for me,” I argued.
“But that doesn’t make me obligated to support you for the rest of my life.
I’m only thirty, Mom. I want to have a husband and children one day.
I don’t want to work as a waitress forever just because you think you’re too good to hold down a job. ”
“What kind of man do you think would ever be interested in someone as selfish as you?” she sneered, and that stung. We’d gone from her being self-centered to her being cruel, and I never imagined such a day.
Refusing to be her victim, I turned, grabbed my sandwich, then headed to my room.