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CHAPTER 7
I was on my last shift before the weekend, and none of the guys had come in that night. I searched for them the moment we opened at eight, but none of them stepped into the bar. Of course, my mother was there. She was being obnoxious, drinking all our booze for free, and falling all over the young guys she thought she could take home.
“Another one,” my mother said.
“You can’t even talk straight. I’m cutting you off,” I said.
“I said I want another.”
“No.”
“Just one more,” she said. “There’s this hot guy in the back who loves tequila. One shot of it on my breath, and he’s mine.”
“Haven’t slept with all the guys in town yet, I see.”
When my mother didn't give me a reply, I looked up into her eyes and was shocked to find that she was surprised at my comment. She tilted her head off to the side like she was studying an endangered animal or trying to learn a new concept. Her brow furrowed deeply as her eyes scanned my body, and I braced myself for whatever she was going to say next.
“What makes you think you can dictate what I do?” my mother asked.
“The least you could do is conduct yourself like a mother,” I said.
“I’m more than just your mother, Emma. I’m a woman with wants, needs, kinks, and fetishes.”
“Take that kind of talk somewhere else, please.”
“Give me a shot of tequila and I will,” she said.
“You’ve had enough alcohol. I’m not giving you anymore,” I said.
“You listen here, you selfish little brat. You don’t get to judge me after everything I gave up to have you. I made a mistake in having unprotected sex, and I paid the price with you. I dropped everything in my life so that I could raise you. Give you what you needed. Feed you and clothe you and school you and shit. And if you think that you get the right to be embarrassed just because I gave up my golden years to raise you, then you’re sorely mistaken. Now. Give me. Another. Shot.”
I hated my mother. In that moment, there was nothing I wanted to do more than slap her across her face. I was willing to do anything to get her to go away, even if it meant feeding her alcohol she didn't need. I slammed a shot glass down onto the bar, poured our cheapest tequila into it, and watched her throw it back like the drunk she was.
“Thanks. You're a real peach,” she said sarcastically.
She threw the shot glass back behind the bar, and it shattered on the floor at my feet.
I watched my mother leave the bar area and go toward the man she had her eyes on. She went and tugged on his hand, and then the two of them slid into a booth. The young man leaned into her, his nose trailing along her neck, and soon the two of them were all over each other in that smoky little corner as I shook my head behind the bar.
“Everything okay?” Lindy asked.
“I was wondering when you would show up here,” I said, sighing.
“It’s only ten o’clock,” she said, giggling.
“Fuck.”
“Your mom’s at it early tonight. She got a bedtime or something?”
“Nope. But she’s pissed because I tried to call her out for her slutty behavior.”
“Whoa, yikes. How the hell did she respond to that?” she asked.
“She went on this tirade about how she wasted her golden years raising me and how she was more than just a mother I could be embarrassed about. Now, she’s probably trying to prove a point,” I said.
“Yeah. Probably not the best idea to call her out while she’s drunk,” Lindy said.
“Ya think?”
