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I look away and clench my fists tighter, and my short nails bite into my palms. I want to lash out at Mom, but she’s so frail that I feel like a bully. I’m the strong one. I quickly wipe at my eyes, concealing my own pain.
“Your…” she starts over, “he wants to make amends for neglecting us.” I lift my head and listen to what she has to say. “He’s acknowledging that he should’ve been more present in our lives.”
I scoff. Those aren’t her polished words. The SOB wants something from us, but what do we have to give? Maybe he’s afraid we’ll crawl out of the woodwork and embarrass his ass with our presence. Twisting my lips, I keep my mouth shut and wait to learn.
Mom continues briskly. “He’s offered to pay our living expenses. And he wants you to go to college.”
This time, I scoff loudly. “You have to be fucking kidding me.”
“Language, Astrid.” Her tone is tight.
Turning toward Mom, I continue my tirade of frustration. “College? Seriously? What college is going to take me with my 2.0 average from the prestigious Monarch Street Academy?”
Monarch Street Academy used to be a respected school back in the 1950s when the rich people still lived in our town. But then the population changed, and when the urban spread reached their pristine homes, the rich people fled like rats abandoning a sinking ship, leaving their snotty-ass academy behind. Too bad they didn’t leave any money to keep funding it.
“He’s paid your tuition to attend Stonehaven.” Mom’s lips curve into a rare smile, but it quickly fades when she sees the dread in my eyes.
All I can think about are those stuck-up kids and how they look down their plastic noses all summer at me while I bus their trays into the kitchen. Fuck. My head starts to swirl, and the air in the room turns stuffier, making it impossible not to notice the stench.
“No, I can’t go there.” I leap off the bed. “I won’t go there. I hate those kids.”
There’s one I now hate more than the rest. Wyatt caught me with a kiss when I should’ve slapped his face for trying, but instead, I returned his kiss eagerly. My body responds to the memory of his hands on my waist, pulling me into him as if his need to have me was out of his control. But the boy laughed after he got what he wanted. My silence. He’s lucky I never snitch.
“Astrid, you have to go.” Mom’s eyes shine as she pleads. “Do you want to end up like this?” She waves a hand over her inert legs. “Wasting away with a broken body weighing you down? I used to be pretty like you with a future way ahead of me. I didn’t make plans because I had my looks. Well, they got me nowhere. Go to school and get a degree. Get out of this…shitty neighborhood.”
The word sticks in her throat until it blasts past her trembling lips. Unlike me, Mom rarely curses, and I stand there staring at her as her agony morphs into a rare display of rage. She leans forward until her forehead touches her knees and her shoulders shake. I hurry over to her, climbing onto the bed and hugging myself around her fragile form.
“Don’t cry, Mommy,” I sob, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be trouble. I’ll go. Whatever I can do. I’ll go.”
She presses my hand to her chapped lips, and her dry kiss brushes my skin.
“Astrid, it’s for you,” she says, “or I would never have let that man past the door.”
I wait for a further explanation, but she’s going to make me ask. “Who is my father? What’s his name?”
Mom squirms away from me and pulls her body to the edge of the bed. Awkwardly, she heaves her feet onto the floor. Breathing heavily, she sits up with her shoulders hunched over. “I can’t tell you his name, Astrid,” she replies sternly, “If I do, he’ll never help you.”
