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“I can’t,” I admitted.
He studied me, understanding what I meant. I didn’t have money for her, or me. With a nod, he said, “If I give you shifts, you better not give her any of the tips. No way are you fucking working your ass off for her.”
I shook my head. I felt the guilt always associated with Cheryl, but she was bumped down on my worry list because of everything else in my life.
He scratched his head, which I knew was a gesture to keep his hand busy instead of strangling me. “What did you give her this month?”
I gnawed on my lip, knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer. “Rent.”
He exhaled, closed his eyes. “Fuck, Mal. She’s never going to stop.”
“Am I supposed to just cut her off?”
“Yes!” he huffed.
This was the same argument we got into again and again.
He came over, set his hands on my shoulders. “You will never make her happy.”
I looked down and sniffed. That hurt. The words and the truth behind them.
“Fuck, I don’t mean it like that.” He sighed, softened his voice. “You’re perfect. She’s a fucking mooch and no matter what you do, she will never be satisfied. A new car, she’ll say she expected four-wheel drive. A new coffee maker and it should have been an espresso machine.”
He looked down at the phone, swiped back through the older texts she sent.
“You paid the electric bill last month? Fuck, Mal, look at this text! She’s gaslighting you when you got upset about giving her a hundred bucks.”
“I know. I know! But she–”
He held up his hand. “No buts. You can’t give her money you don’t have. You work your butt off and should be tucked away in that little dream house of yours. I’m so fucking proud of you.”
Tears filled my eyes because Arlo was more a parent than either of mine.
“But you’ve been giving her money forherrent and other shit and then knocking that you’re only a teacher and don’t make more. Like it’s your fault she’s a deadbeat.”
She said it was, that I was the baby she never wanted. That she wouldn’t be working a long line of deadend jobs if she hadn’t had me. I tried for her to love me. Tried all the time growing up. In college. Now. No matter what I did, it wasn’t good enough becauseIwasn’t good enough.
“She has to take care of Dad,” I offered, although the excuse was lame.
“Really? You’re going with that? You’re too fucking nice, Mal. Dad is a doormat, and you know it. He lost himself in a bottle when my mom died. The house could blow away in a tornado and he’d be content as long as he has his beer, cigs, and his recliner.”
That was completely true.
“You know I don’t trust her. Hell, I wonder why she even stays.”
I wondered, too. If she never wanted me, if Dad never turned into the money catch she’d hoped for, it was a mystery why she stuck around.
He shook his head. “She takes advantage. I have to wonder what she’s really up to these days. If you paid her rent and fucking electric bill, how come she doesn’t have money for the car? Is she really working even?”
I had no answer.
“Maybe it’s time to find out.”
I recognized that look, the determined gleam I often saw in my own. Not now, and never with Cheryl.
“Go for it,” I told him. “All I know is I want some shifts.”
When he eyed me like big brothers do as if trying to figure out if he was being fucked with, I added, “For the house.”
