Breaking Free by Isabel Lucero

17

When I get home,I find my mom in the small garden in front of our house.

“What’re you doing?” I ask as I make my way to the steps. “It’s not really the time to plant flowers.”

She laughs lightly and raises her head, pushing her hair out of her face with the back of her gloved hand. “Not planting flowers, but I thought I should clear out this area a little. The weeds have taken over, and I don’t even know what the hell this plant is supposed to be, so I’m gonna rip it out. Maybe in the spring I’ll plant flowers, but since Halloween is next month, I figure we can put some pumpkins and little decorations over here.”

“Might as well leave it as is if you’re wanting it to be scary,” I say with a laugh.

“Oh,” she says, waving her hand at me and shaking her head.

“Want me to help you?”

“No,” she replies with a smile. “I like this. I like having something to do, but thank you.”

I grin. “Okay. I’m gonna get some homework done before I have to go to work.”

“All right, baby.”

At the door, I glance back and watch her as she goes back to work, pulling weeds and putting them in a plastic bag. I think I hear her hum lightly. Normally, watching someone do yard work isn’t anything spectacular, but I’m happy she’s out of the house and doing something other than crying. She’s starting to live.

When I get inside, the aroma of food hits my nostrils, and as I inspect the kitchen, I find a slow cooker with what looks like Mexican casserole. I smile, glad that Mom seems to be doing so much better.

I get an hour's worth of homework done before I switch gears and make sure to pay all the bills. Mom’s running out of money. Fast. The insurance should come through soon, but it won’t stretch too far. I have some money saved, and once I start getting paid for working at the bar, I’ll be able to use that, but eventually Mom will have to find a job. Even though she seems to be getting better, I don’t want to push her too far too fast. And to be honest, I’m not sure what all she’s qualified for.

A knock on my door brings me out of my thoughts. “Yeah?”

Mom pushes the door open slightly. “Will you be able to eat a little before going to work?”

“Yeah, of course,” I reply.

She steps in and eyes the envelope to the waste department—the only bill I can’t pay online. “Bills? Are we behind on anything?”

“No, we’re fine,” I answer honestly.

We don’t have the extras like cable or five million streaming services. I cut off my Netflix account once I moved here and started helping with bills.

“For how long?”

I press my lips into a line. “Not for too long. The insurance will help, but…”

“I was going to use most of the insurance to pay down the mortgage.”

“If that’s the case, you’ll only have enough for a handful of months or so before you’re out of money.”

She forces a smile, her eyes glistening. “We’ll figure it out. Don’t stress yourself out too much. At least you’re on scholarship, and we don’t have to worry about you dropping out.”

I just nod along and follow her to the kitchen where she takes a couple bowls out of the cupboard and starts filling them up.

“Your dad always liked this meal,” she says, depositing the dishes on the table as I pull out a pitcher of water from the fridge.

I stiffen, hating hearing about him, but also afraid it will thrust her back into despair. I don’t say anything, because I have nothing nice to say about the man. I pour water into two glasses and sit across from her at the table.

Before I can thank her for the meal, she says, “Do you remember the time I cooked this, and your father wanted to help but ended up putting the wrong spices in and it turned out awful?” She laughs at the memory.

“I don’t remember.”

“Oh. Well, maybe you weren’t home at the time.”

The only times I wasn’t home was when my mom knew my dad would be in a terrible mood or anticipated a fight happening and would send me off to the park or to a friend’s house.

“What about that time—”

I cut her off. “Mom, I really don’t want to reminisce about him.”

Her smile drops and I feel like shit, but I can’t sit here and try to remember him being some amazing father and husband. He wasn’t. I have no good memories of him.

“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to...I don’t know...remember the good times.”

“There weren’t many, Ma,” I say with a sigh. “I can’t think of one time where he was good to me.”

“That’s not true. He loved you.”

I keep my eyeroll in check, but my frustration grows. “He loved torturing me. He got off on being able to push me around until I got bigger than him. He was a bully with a god complex, and he was only tough if he was beating up on his wife and kid. He didn’t love me. He hated me. Especially when I came out. You don’t remember the names he called me? You don’t remember him telling me I’d go to hell?”

Mom starts to cry, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin.

“I’m sorry, Mom. If you need to remember him in a fictional light in order to grieve and move on, that’s fine, but I can’t. You don’t know a lot of what me and him went through in the years leading to me moving out. I will not be sad that he’s gone and I won’t pretend he was decent. I’m sorry for you and what you’re going through, but that’s it.”

She nods. “Okay. I understand.” After wiping her tears, she looks me in the eye. “I’m sorry for not doing more. I just didn’t know what to do.”

“It’s fine,” I say a little tersely before softening my tone. “I know now that there wasn’t much you could do, and if you ever did, you’d pay for it.”

“I know it’s weird to miss him, or be sad he’s gone. I know that,” she says, dissolving into tears again. “But I don’t know another life. I don’t know how to survive. He did everything.”

“To keep you from doing anything.”

She nods, grabbing another napkin for her nose. “I know.”

I get up and walk over to hug her. “I love you. I’m sorry for making you cry.”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry for bringing him up when I know how you feel.”

We stay in an embrace for a while until she eventually says she’s okay, and I go back to my seat. We enjoy the rest of dinner with talk about school, football, the gossip she’s gotten from Ms. Anne next door, and her plans for the garden.

Before I head out to work, I get a text from Jay.

Jay:Hey. That guy I was telling you about? He’s down to meet you.

I briefly think about Trevor,but remember he said he doesn’t want anything to happen between us again. Maybe it is time to meet someone else.