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Chapter 3
Willow
When I unlocked the front door, Zoe is sitting at our round dining room table, staring down at a textbook, her laptop angled to the left. Cody is in his playpen by the wall, fast asleep.
Zoe hears me close the door and looks over at me, "Hey, Mom called."
"Oh, and what's the news, she got married?" I roll my eyes.
"Close, she's engaged to Frank," Zoe says.
"Well, that one took longer than I expected," I put my stuff in the chair opposite where she sits.
"So, she'll stay in Vegas?"
"Who cares," Zoe says absently, staring at her notes.
Our mother had more boyfriends than either of us could count. My Dad left when I was 14, and he'd never looked back. Our Mom was fond of two things, the bottle and men.
"When is Cody's pediatrician appointment?"
"It's Tuesday at 9 am," Zoe says, looking up at me.
"Don't you have a class at that time?"
"Yeah, but I'm going to skip it," Zoe responds, shrugging.
"You can't keep skipping classes. How many have you missed?"
"It's fine," Zoe frowns at me.
"You need to take this seriously," I warn.
"Just because you were all about school doesn't mean we all are. How is history going to help me make money?" Zoe asks.
"It's part of getting a degree; you have to do the core classes," I say.
"Fat chance this will help me. I'd rather get a full-time job or maybe find a trade school," Zoe stands, heading toward the kitchen carrying her empty glass.
"You have to think about your future. You don't want to wait tables your whole life," I try to reason with her. We've had this discussion before.
"Don't tell me what I want to do. Do you even listen to yourself? It's time you stopped acting like my mother," Zoe glares at me, sipping from her glass of orange juice.
I roll my eyes as I grip the back of the wooden chair, "when you start making good decisions, maybe I'll ease up."
"Whatever, Willow!
Heaven forbid you not have control over something," Zoe puts her glass down and goes to Cody. She eases him up and into her arms.
"It's funny," I begin, starting to feel my pulse pound as my anger begins to rise, "I don't remember you complaining when I moved back here."
"Fuck it! Go back to New York; we'll be fine," Zoe says through clenched teeth, moving toward the stairs.
Grabbing my stuff, I head to my room at the back of the house. I change into my running gear. As an afterthought, I survey my room and see nothing is out of place. What’s wrong with having control and order? Grabbing my iPod and armband, I queue up some Eminem. Frustration is rolling off me as I carefully stretch out. I just wanted Zoe to want more for her life.
She had Cody to think about now too.
Was it so wrong to want her to succeed?
I had known what I wanted to be from an early age. Teaching, and then later, I planned to get a Master's degree in education's administrative side. When I hit the sidewalk, I begin slowly to warm up, and a block out, my pace quickens. I realize I needed a night off. Maybe I'd hit up that new bar on the outskirts of town. The distraction would be welcome. I could use some flirting, perhaps even a hookup—a distraction to get the weight of the world off my shoulders.
