Page 94 of Wrecked By a Devil

“Then at least turn it off,” Elena adds. “It’s annoying to the point that I’m considering dropping it in the toilet.”

We both laugh at her comment and I lean forward, picking the phone. My heart drops when I read the name on the screen. It’s my mother.

“I’ll take this in my room,” I get up from the sofa and head down the small hallway.

“Ohh, so much mystery,” I hear Lexi tease behind me.

Once I close the door behind me, I take a deep breath, my finger shaking as I slide over the green button. “Hello?”

“Hey, Riley!” Mom’s voice sends me into a spiral down the memory lane. I take a deep breath, reminding myself how to inhale and exhale. “I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“Yet you still continued calling,” I say, doing my best to sound indifferent, but I’m not sure that’s how my words come out.

“I wanted to hear your voice,” she sighs.

“Well, now you did,” I’m about to hang up the call, my finger trembling over the red button.

“Wait!” She says from the other side, stopping me. “When I saw you on the news, I was worried, Riley.”

“I can assure you I was in less danger in that situation than I was when I was living with you and…” The pain spreads from my chest through the rest of my body as I remember those years. “Him.”

“And I’ll never forgive myself for that,” There is something different in her voice as she says those words, but I can’t pinpoint what it is yet. “So I can’t ask you to do it.”

“Why did you call, mom?”

“Because I miss you, I guess.” Her words sound sincere, but I know better than to let myself be carried away by wishful thinking. “How have you been?”

“Can’t complain,” I say, dryly, not asking about her life.

The truth is I just want to end the phone call but for whatever reason, I’m unable to. A part of me wants to hear that she’s okay.

“I’m glad,” she says. “I’ve been sober for five months now, six in a week.”

It takes me a few seconds to process what she’s just shared. For as long as I can remember, my mother has been an alcoholic. I saw her with a bottle of her drink of choice more often than I saw her eat, as I was growing up.

“And I’m no longer with him.” That comes out as an even bigger surprise. The last time I saw her, she was so blinded by her feelings for that man that she didn’t even want to admit that he was abusing her physically or that he’d been abusing me too. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“What do you want me to say?” I sigh. “Congratulations?”

“Maybe,” she chuckles, a sound I recognize even though she sounds different. I think she’s starting to tear up, even though I can’t see her.

“If it’s for good, then I’m happy for you,” I respond. “But if you’re going to fall back into all of it again, there’s no point in saying anything, or having this conversation for that matter.”

“You’re right,” she agrees. “That’s why I’m not asking you to forgive me, I know that it’s not something I deserve or that can be instant. But I do hope that we can speak. If you want to…”

“I don’t trust you,” I admit, not willing to compromise my peace, but I also feel the pull to give her a chance and to face it all onceand for all. “But we can stay in touch. And maybe grab a coffee and talk.”

“Perfect!” Mom responds. “That’s more than I ever hoped for.”

“Okay.”

“So you drink coffee?” Her voice is full of surprise.

“Like it’s water.” I realize only after the words leave my mouth, that this is the first time I’ve joked with my mother.

“At least we have one thing in common.”

I’m not sure how I feel about having something in common with my mom, but when we end the phone call, I find myself wondering what that was all about. I want to trust my her. I’ve always wanted a normal relationship with my own mom.