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I pursed my lips. I could smell the alcohol on her breath. She’d been at the bar. Her usual haunt after her shift.
“It’s fine.” I wasn’t in the mood to argue with her, especially because I knew that my bitching at her wasn’t going to do anything. My mother was a functional alcoholic and had been my entire life.
“Shouldn’t you be ready for work?”
I sighed as I straightened up the tabletop. We received a pile of bills, and I knew that I needed to sort through them. A few had ‘past due’ marked on the outside. We couldn’t afford to be without electricity or heat considering Mikey’s fragile medical state, and the fact that it would soon be the middle of winter.
“I’m not working today.”
My mother dropped herself into one of the chairs at the table with a groan. “Did you get fired?”
Her words stopped me short. “Why would you think that?”
I turned to look at her surprised by the intensity of her eyes on me. “Because you came home looking like hell.”
I stiffened. This morning we had both pretended like last night hadn’t happened. I preferred it that way. My mother didn’t need to know what occurred. Even if we were close, I would be terrified that telling her would put her in danger.
“Well?” she asked. “What the hell happened?”
“Nothing,” I muttered. “And I wasn’t fired. I was promoted to dancer actually.”
I watched as my mother crumpled in her seat She hated that I worked in the club, but she dealt with it because I wasn’t stripping. The idea of it hurt her Catholic sensibilities, which I found highly hypocritical.
“I’m going to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me.” The seriousness of her words and her tone worried me.
I nodded.
“Did one of the men get handsy with you last night? Is that why you looked the way you did?”
I chuckled at her words. I couldn’t help it. My mother, who nearly drank herself to death everyday, and spent money we didn’t have to feed her addiction, could ask me if I had been raped.
“No,” I told her, shaking my head. “I missed the train, so I walked home.” It was the lamest excuse, but it was the only one I had. I couldn’t tell my mother what happened. At the very least, she would want me to go the police. I didn’t want to be involved any more than I already was.
My mother looked at me discerningly, and I knew she wasn’t fooled. I was grateful for the fact that she was willing to let it go. I didn’t have the energy for concocting anything else.
“There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“Oh?” I swallowed as I considered what it could be. Whenever my mother said those words, nothing good followed. The first time I remembered hearing them was when I was seven, and my father decided to walk out on us.
She picked up one of the bills on the table, tapping the envelope on the wood. The sound put me on edge, but I said nothing. “Mikey’s doctor told me about a new treatment he might be eligible for.”
I leaned forward. “That’s great!”
We had been trying to find a new treatment for Mikey since the last one had failed. His tumor hadn’t spread, but it had grown, and so far nothing had helped him. We hadn’t given up, but as months passed, we’d been forced to watch Mikey grow more and more ill.
“That’s great. Isn’t it?” I asked.
My mother sighed. “The treatment is $100,000.” She said it evenly as though she’d practiced the number over and over again.
My mouth dropped open. “One hundred grand?” I blinked several times as I tried to consider how much money that was.
She nodded her head. “It’s a promising trial. They’ve seen great results, but it’s experimental, and even if we had insurance, it wouldn’t be covered.”
My stomach turned at the idea, and I could feel the little bit of macaroni making its way back up my throat.
“Who the hell has that kind of money?”
My mother shrugged. We didn’t always get along, but we would both do anything for Mikey. And while my mother hadn’t been good to me, I knew the idea of not being able to afford this treatment for Mikey was killing her the same way it was killing me.
