AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chelsea glances at me over Damon’s shoulder, her eyes pleading. I shrug. She promised John three dates. Which means now she gets Damon in all his crocheted glory.
“Glad to make your acquaintance, my fair lady.”
Damon holds out his arm, and after hesitating just long enough to make things awkward, Chelsea places her hand in the crook of his elbow.
The guy might be a total idiot wearing fitted, organic, locally sourced wool, but I still hate seeing Chelsea touching another man. She sends me another pleading look over her shoulder as they leave. Damon is still chattering away, now back on the topic of hisdocu. Do people really call documentaries that?
I don’t have time to think too hard about where Damon is taking Chelsea on their date or if he’ll ever let her get a word in edgewise because my phone is buzzing in my pocket. It’s my mother.
Just the sight of her name on my screen makes my gut sink. I stare, holding it almost long enough to let it go to voicemail. I’ve been avoiding her for days, and the frequency of her texts and calls keeps increasing. Sighing, I answer.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Baby.”
I've gotten to the point where I can pinpoint Mom’s state by one word. It has to do with both word choice and the tone.Babyis a bad sign. So is the breathy sigh she heaves into the phone after saying it.
I close my eyes, rubbing my temple, anticipating the headache this call will bring.
“Do you think you could pick something up for me? I can’t drive because I’ve got a migraine.”
Funny, because I’m on my way to having one too.
For mom, migraine is code for hangover. Or withdrawal. I almost forgot the itchy feeling I get when she asks for a favor, but it returns with a vengeance.
I stand here in the empty apartment, holding my phone while thinking about the patterns in my life. I’m reserved and tend to be a peacemaker and a pleaser. But in two of my most pivotal relationships—with John and with my mom—I am far too passive. Far too motivated by what the other person wants.
With John, our relationship is not unhealthy, per se. It’s not like our core personalities or how we relate to one another will change. But I am actively taking steps to change some things with John, especially as it relates to Chelsea.
I need to do the same with my mom. I just don’t know how.
With her, it’s more complicated and decidedlynothealthy. That fact alone should make it easier to enact change, but we’re talking a whole lifetime of patterns to disrupt. I don’t even know where to begin.
I’d like to figure out how to actually love and support her instead of constantly doing what I’m ninety-nine percent sure is enabling.
“Baby? Are you still there?”
“Yeah, Mom.”
A pause. Her voice has a deeper note of pleading in it.
“So, you’ll help me?”
One last time. Just once. “Yeah, Mom. I will.”
“I’ll text you a list. You’re the best son a mother could ask for.”
Debatable. But, despite knowing this is a bad idea, I agree and head down to the parking garage, digesting a whole gut full of negative emotions. Sadness. Guilt. Anger. Despair. Bitterness.
I’m almost to my car when I spot Chelsea. She’s a few rows over, leaning against one of the concrete pillars, staring at the ceiling like she’s searching for constellations.
It takes a moment to compute, because Chelsea left with Damon not twenty minutes ago. She should be with him wherever he was taking her on their date. Not alone in a parking garage.
“Chelsea?”
Her gaze snaps to me, and she blinks a few times before pushing off the pillar and making her way over. I can’t read the expression on her face.
“Why aren’t you with Damon?” I ask.
