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“Mother?” I ask. Her hair is wild and her eyes are wide.
“What did you do?” She says through gritted teeth.
“Did you just race over here? Mom, you know you can’t run. Your asthma is too bad. Do you need a puff?”
“I do not need a puff, young lady,” she says, but she’s breathing hard and I know she needs her inhaler.
“For the love of dragons, mother! Take your inhaler. I’ll be waiting right here and you can yell at me once you can breathe again.”
She glares, but fishes the inhaler out of her pocket and brings it to her dry, chapped lips. She pushes the top of the inhaler and dispenses a single dose of her Albuterol, then shoves it back in her pocket. I give my mother a second to start breathing normally again. I shouldn’t. I should take off, but I don’t. I wait a second.
“What did you do?” She repeats. I raise an eyebrow, but she just motions toward the bathrooms where Janet, Adele, and Mandy are screaming obscenities at each other.
“I believe I used the toilet and now I’m leaving,” I say. It’s time to grow up. It’s time to be strong. I will not apologize for what’s happening in there. Old Melody would have faltered. Old Melody would have instantly said, “I’m so sorry.” Old Melody would have taken the blame.
I’m done with all of that.
“You little bit
ch,” my mother growls at me, and for just a second, my mouth drops open. She’s always been mean to me, but she’s never been this cruel. “I know you said something to stir up shit. That’s what you do, Melody. You’ve always caused trouble for your sister and she hasn’t even done anything wrong.”
“She slept with Janet’s husband,” I say, baffled at what’s happening right now. “You don’t think there’s anything wrong with that?”
My mother waves her hand like she’s brushing away the idea that this is an issue. “That’s conjecture,” she tells me.
“Yeah, you’re not a lawyer, Mom. You can’t just use terms you hear on legal crime dramas and use them to win arguments.”
She frowns and crosses her arms over her chest. Once again, I’m struck by the fact that my mom is really thin and small, but more than that: she’s frail-looking. When did that happen? When did she start to look old? Weak? When did she start to look so damn breakable?
“Go apologize to your sister,” she says. “Go fix this.”
She’s not going to change.
I like to believe anyone can change if you believe in them hard enough, if you give them enough chances, but my mother isn’t going to change. She’s got no interest in changing, in growing as a person. She’s got no interest in me or our relationship or fixing things between us.
She’s selfish, and this is it.
This is the end of the line for us.
This is the part where I walk away from my childhood, where I walk away from the woman who raised me, where I leave the past behind.
This is the part where I accept there are some things I can’t change and I move on.
“I didn’t do anything wrong, Mom,” I tell her. “And I’m not going to apologize. I’m not going to fix this. Mandy got herself into this mess and she can get herself out. I know you don’t love me or want me around. I know I’m just the fuck-up to you, and you know what? That’s fine, but I don’t have any interest in being the person you blame for everything. Not anymore.”
For a second, I think about telling her she can call me when she changes her mind, when she decides to change, when she pulls it all together, but I don’t.
I whisper a soft “goodbye,” then I get in my car and I drive away, leaving my mother standing at the edge of the parking lot looking confused, looking weak, looking tired.
But she also looks angry, and I know I made the right choice.
I hope I made the right fucking choice.
2
Melody
I’m not a pretty crier.
