Chapter 22 #2
Being invited over for a girls’ night shouldn’t sound as exciting as it does, but I can’t remember the last time I hung out with a friend.
As much as I adore Trey and his husband Zach, they are men.
It would be cool to have another girl to talk to.
Plus, I don’t work tonight, so it’s like it was meant to be.
“Um, okay. Are you sure? I can bring something.”
Something cheap, hopefully, since I’m still paying off the director of my mom’s care facility.
Which reminds me, I need to call Mike and tell him it might be another couple of days since I missed out on some tips last night, and I didn’t get the chance to ask my manager for an extra shift.
Maybe I’ll stop by on the way to Jordyn’s house so I can check on my mom.
I always feel guilty if I go more than a week without seeing her.
“Just bring yourself! I’ll text you my address. I can’t wait to see you.”
My heart beats faster. Even though I’m not sure if it’s the best idea, becoming friends with my boss’s wife, I just can’t find it in me to turn her down.
Hopefully, Xander won’t be upset or feel like I’m trying to get close to him or something.
He made it clear that last night was a one-time thing. And I’m okay with that.
I think.
As soon as I step through the door of Caring Hearts Recovery Center, the smell of cleaner and fresh cookies hits me right as the receptionist offers a bright smile and rises from her chair.
“Hey, Quinn! It’s so good to see you. Your mom is having a really good day today.”
“Really?” I smile, a tiny spark of excitement coursing through me.
There have been a few good days since I started coming here to see my mom. They’ve been the only times she seems to recognize me, and as much as I have so much resentment toward her for everything she put me through, there’s a tiny part of me that still hopes. For what, I’m not really sure.
“Yes. In fact, do you want to take her a warm cookie? Those always perk her up.”
Sarah hands me a warm chocolate chip cookie on a napkin and buzzes me in through the set of doors that take me into the large, communal living room. Several eyes lift to see who entered, but as soon as they realize I’m not there for them, they go back to what they were doing.
I scan the couches first and then the half-dozen tables set up for eating and games.
Finally, I spot my mom sitting by herself, staring at the TV that’s playing an episode of some old soap opera that seems to be on repeat whenever I come here.
As I approach, she glances up at me and does a double-take, then smiles so big it makes my chest ache.
“Hey, Mom.”
As I pull a chair out and sit by her, I startle when she reaches out and grabs my hand, squeezing it with hers. A lump forms in my throat, and I have to force it down by swallowing several times before I speak again.
“You look pretty today.”
I tell her that every time I see her. I’m not sure what else to say.
We haven’t had a two-sided conversation since she told me to fuck her drug dealer or get out of her house.
Not that it was an actual house. More of a trailer.
That had been through a tornado and then a monsoon.
As soon as I walked out of that bug-infested, crack house, which was barely habitable, it was the first time in my life I felt like I could take a full breath.
I was both terrified and excited at the same time.
I was finally free from her. All the drugs.
The men. The filth. I thought when I left there, those things wouldn’t define me.
But I was so wrong.
She stares at me, her blue eyes sparkling as the wrinkles around them crease as she smiles sadly.
The lump in my throat returns, and I glance down at my lap, trying to will myself not to cry. Guilt pools in my stomach because I just want to leave. In five minutes, she won’t even remember I was here.
Was I ever important to her?
“I’m sorry.”
The words are quiet. So quiet, I’m not sure I actually heard them.
“Quinn, I’m so sorry.”
My head flies up to meet her gaze because she just said my name.
She said my name.
She knows who I am.
A tear falls from her eye, and I let out a choked sob.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers again.
I blink, my own tears rolling down my cheeks.
There are so many things I want to say. To ask.
But part of me isn’t sure if I want the answers.
And another part of me doesn’t know if they would change anything anyway.
I will always love my mom. I’ve never stopped.
I just don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive her for everything she put me through.
Since I’m not sure if I can speak right now, I just nod and try to smile.
She looks into the distance and eats the cookie I set in front of her while some of the other residents play cards at another table, my thoughts and emotions reeling.
She said my name, and she said she’s sorry.
I want to ask if she knows what she’s sorry for. If she remembers not coming home when I was five, leaving me alone to fend for myself overnight.
Or if she remembers telling me to go fuck her drug dealer so he would forgive her debt and give her some crack.
Or the Christmas morning I woke up to nothing. No presents, no family, no food, and when she finally showed up, she was so high that she passed out in her own vomit for six hours and then woke up and left to get high again.
Because I remember it all like it was yesterday. Especially as I sit here, facing her.
She turns to look at me again, the recognition gone from her eyes. “Do you have any candy?”
A fresh tear slips down my cheek, and I quickly wipe it away as I rise from the chair. “No. Sorry. I don’t. Take care, and I’ll see you soon.”
I’m not sure whether that’s the truth or not. Maybe once I walk out of those doors, I won’t ever come back. Because it’s so much easier to forget how hard it all is when I’m not here.
Before I leave the secure area, I look back at my mom one last time, but she’s engrossed with eating the rest of her cookie, our conversation forgotten already.
When I walk through the lobby, I keep my head down, not wanting anyone to see me crying.
I’ll come back another time to discuss my mother’s bill.
I’m not in the right frame of mind today.
“Quinn,” the receptionist says as I pass her desk, “Mike said he wants to speak with you before you leave.”
Fuck.
I guess I’m doing this whether I want to or not.
When I raise my gaze, she bites her lip and offers a kind smile. “Do you want to take a moment in the ladies’ room first?”
As soon as I nod, she mirrors me and motions down the hall where the public restrooms are situated.
The shitty lighting only adds to the horror I see when I look in the mirror. So much for the extra time I spent on my hair and makeup for my girls’ night with Jordyn. My mascara is running down my cheeks, and my nose is bright red, along with the rims of my eyes.
Using a paper towel, I use cold water to clean myself up and hopefully calm my blotchy skin.
Mike is waiting for me by the front desk when I return, and as he slides his gaze over me, the hair on the back of my neck prickles. I hate him. People like this asshole should never be in powerful positions. Greedy, shady, and slimy as hell.
Trying to keep my head high, I follow him into his office. It’s hard because everything feels so damn heavy right now. Sometimes I wonder if this weight I’ve been carrying around will ever lighten.
“What can I help you with today, Quinn?” he asks, leaning a hip against his desk and crossing his arms over his chest.
My heart pounds as I chew the inside of my cheek. I can do this. I’ve practiced, and I can do it.
“We need to work out another payment plan. I want to get my mom’s bill up to date, but I will never be able to do that with the kind of interest you’re charging. One hundred dollars a day is outrageous and not affordable on my salary.”
There. I said it. I was direct without being a total bitch.
Totally winning at this adulting thing.
Mike’s eyes narrow on me as he runs his tongue over his disgusting lips, then does a lingering sweep of me from head to toe. My stomach turns, and it feels like there’s acid in the pit of it.
“I’m sure we can certainly work something out, Quinn,” he says in a tone that makes my skin crawl.
Swallowing the disgust I feel over being ogled by this asshole, I force a smile. “Great. I did some calculations and have come up with a couple of different payment plans that I can work better with.”
I pull the folded piece of paper out of my purse, where I wrote the different figures, and hold it out to him. He studies it for longer than should be necessary for what is written, while I stand in awkward silence, waiting for him to choose one of the proposals.
I might hate him, but if he’s willing to work with me on this, I’m going to be as nice as pie to him until I have my mom’s housing paid up to date.
Minutes pass, and the unease in my stomach gets stronger with each second.
Then he looks up from the paper and gives me another once-over before he sets it down on the surface of his desk and licks his chapped, thin lips.
Never in my life have I come across a man I can trust. Not my father, obviously, since he ditched my mom as soon as she told him she was pregnant.
That’s what she told me anyway. And not any of my mom’s boyfriends, who were constantly coming and going.
Not Jason. Not Lonny. Not that asshole at the bar. And certainly not Mike.