Chapter Three
Ijiggle with the key to the front door while my phone vibrates in the pocket of my uniform. Sliding my phone out, I see who’s calling—and like it always does when I see her name pop up on the screen, a dark, thick cloud rolls in, blanketing me with a heavy, dense pressure.
“Hello, Roxy,” I answer.
“Why do you always insist on calling me by my first name, my little Piper Moon?” she asks. I never wanted to call my mother by her first name, but it hasn’t felt natural to refer to her as mom since I was a child.
“What do you need?” I ask, wheeling my luggage into my small, one-bedroom, high-rise apartment in downtown Scottsdale.
“It seems I’ve gotten myself into a bit of a pickle again, sweetie. I’m going to need help with rent this month.” My mother’s voice lacks the typical shame or embarrassment that one would expect. It takes on a cheery tone like it always does because in her world, I’m a mere extension of her. Roxy has always felt entitled to anything I’ve had, and she eagerly takes what’s hers.
I let my bag fall to the floor. I need to unpack my clothes from this last trip and switch them out for the next. “I thought Kurt was helping you with rent?”
“No, no, Kurt is out of the picture. He was not good for my aura. You know that’s something I need to protect. And besides, you can afford it with your high-paying flight attendant salary anyway.”
I huff at her comment regarding how much money I make. We’ve gone over it multiple times in the last four years, that I only make a living wage. But to her—someone who’s had to rely on others for income, that seems like a lot.
“I’ve told you this many times. Flight attendants only make an average salary. That means I make enough money for myself and my lifestyle,” I say, throwing my dirty uniform into the laundry basket. “I cannot keep supporting you.”
The force knocks it to the ground with a loud thud, and it’s all I need to grow more anxious for what’s coming on this phone call. They all follow the same pattern. She asks for money, and I respond reluctantly. She makes me feel like a terrible daughter. I give in, and then she attempts to make me feel like it’s my fault for even thinking about refusing her in the first place.
“That’s not fair for you to say that. I am your mother, and I’m all by myself. You know that. And don’t forget that I supported you while you were a child. The least you could do is pay your mother back by being there when I need you to support me,” she replies with an edge to her words.
“I have been helping you since I was able to get a job.” I weakly try to defend myself.
“As you should.”
Roxy spits the same lines every time she needs something from me—the ones I’ve heard since I got my first job as a waitress when I was fifteen. We needed help with rent since her boyfriend at the time had moved out. He left us with the apartment and the lease, which, conveniently, had my name on it. Roxy told me we’d be homeless if I didn’t because her credit was bad.
With my name on the lease, she had even more power over me. Once, during finals week in my junior year of high school, I wanted to take some time off to focus on my studies, but Roxy threatened that if I didn’t want my credit ruined, I had to figure out how to balance both.
I’m sure my mother would have pulled me out of school to work if it wasn’t illegal. My mother is capable of working and providing for herself. She does not have any limitations preventing her from it. And the problem isn’t finding employment. The problem is keeping it.
“How much do you need?” I ask, saving her from a full episode of gaslighting and manipulation at my expense.
“I knew you wouldn’t leave your mother hanging.” Her voice was tight like she was holding back a smile. Roxy knew I’d give in. I always do. She’s emotionally ripped me apart my entire life, but she’s still my mother. “Rent is due tomorrow, so I need you to send it through that little money app you always use. You know, the one that’s on my phone?”
“Tomorrow?” I snap. “Nice to wait until the last minute.”
“I’m not in the mood for a lecture. Just send it over.”
I exhale with exasperation, hoping she hears. Would she care anyway? “Fine. Send me the request, and I’ll transfer the funds tonight.”
“I should be okay for next month. There’s this guy I met working the night shift, and he’s super hung up on me. I’m almost positive he will start paying the rent on my apartment. He’s setting it up so his wife doesn’t find out.”
“He’s married!?” I shout.
She cackles. “If I’m lucky, maybe she’ll find out anyway and leave him. Then he won’t have to spend so much on her. He tells me she—” I remove the phone from my ear until her evil cackling is finished. Of course, he’s married. Am I surprised? No. “You know, my little Piper Moon, you’re becoming quite judgmental in your older years,” she states condescendingly.
“Why does it have to be someone who’s married? Don’t you remember what happened with Paul? He was married. You guys had a fling. He said he would leave his wife and never did. And my dad?”
“The heart wants what it wants.”
“Your heart always seems to want married, unavailable men.”
“With bank accounts and cars, I might add.” Her tone is cheery once again. She wears those words like a badge of honor.
“Have you ever thought about going on one of those dating apps? Maybe searching for someone who actually wants to be in a healthy, secure relationship?”
“The world is not as easy as your little brain makes it out to be,” she replies. And there it is, another one of the many kind things that my mother likes to say to me. Her words do hurt, but only on the inside. On the outside, I’ve become numb to them over the years and have learned to accept the treatment as the norm.
I squeeze my eyelids shut, running through ways to change the subject. “How are you feeling?”
“Why do you always ask me that? It’s not like you care. You barely see me. Since you went to college, nothing has been the same,” she complains.
My mother’s inability to regulate her emotions created an unstable environment for me growing up. We didn’t talk about feelings. She’s uncomfortable with them and shows anger instead of love. I’m expected to check in on her feelings and monitor her emotions. The constant worrying has made me believe I am only worthy when I can do something. It left little time for me to develop and monitor my own. I experienced my feelings being pushed aside and invalidated for much of my childhood and now as an adult.
When I started college, I got a small taste of freedom. I was able to get to know myself for the first time in my entire life. I was able to establish my inner voice and start putting myself first. I was punching holes in the dark veil I’d been living under, slowly gaining my vision. But no matter how I fought to open those holes, letting the light shine through, she was always there to cover them up again.
“I’m not in the mood to go back and forth with you. I just returned from flying the last two days, and I’d like to rest in my quiet apartment,” I say, tucking the phone back into the crook of my neck.
She huffs. “Your life would be so much better if you found a man to take care of you.”
“You mean a married man like you?” I’m losing my patience.
“Any man is better than no man at all. But you’ll never understand because you choose to live your life alone. And don’t think I didn’t hear you bring up your father again. I’m not going to talk about him.”
Maybe he was the only one who truly broke her heart. I barely remember my dad. My only memories are of him visiting me and Roxy when we lived in the apartment behind the grocery store where she worked. His visits were brief. The man, who I was told was my father, would saunter in but not further than the doorway. He would come around dinner time, usually in a navy suit. He’d hand Roxy a thick white envelope filled with cash before shooting me a quick look of acknowledgment and slinking away as quickly as he arrived.
I roll my eyes at her backhanded comment. “I don’t want to spend my time alone, but I also don’t want to make the same mistakes you do. I had a clear trajectory on that path until I decided I wanted different things.”
A family.I’ve wanted one since I was a child. Sitting down together for dinner each night to talk about normal things like school or sports—simple and mundane, but it’s something that I’ve never had. The only thing I think I’ve wanted more is stability. But I have accepted that it’s not my path. I wouldn’t even recognize a life like that anyway, since I’ve never seen it.
“You think you’re so much better than me,” she hisses. “At least I know how to use my beauty the way it should be used. Unlike you.”
Roxy has always been beautiful and knows it. She’s had a way with men that, as a child, I couldn’t understand. Her natural allure allows her to seduce them into doing everything she wants, which is utterly fascinating. More so once I became an adult.
By my eighteenth birthday, my eyes had lightened to a vibrant shade of hazel with green more prominent, and with my strawberry blonde hair, I had become a dead ringer for my mother. By then, she’d taught me how to use guys for my benefit without getting attached. I don’t want to be the wife who has to look the other way while my husband cheats. I don’t want to fall completely in love with someone only for them to leave me one day. All men have affairs. All men will eventually leave. I don’t get attached.
I add soap into the compartment on the left of the washing machine, then punch the button to turn it on. “Whatever. I’m getting off the phone with you. You’ll have your money tonight.” I hang up the phone before she has the chance to respond.