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I just don’t want to do it.
Through the closet walls, I hear the pipesclank,then water flow through them, and I close my eyes again, try to breathe through the pain.
As quietly as possible, I leave the safety of my closet, creep out of the room and into the hallway, and resume my position just outside her door. I listen for any sounds other than the shower running, and when enough time passes and I’m sure Mom’s occupied, I open the door.
I find her phone charging on the nightstand and pick it up. Everyone in my family has the same PIN for everything. Same password too. My parents set everything up when Harley and I were kids, and we just never bothered to change them. We had nothing to hide. If Mom’s PIN is the same, thenshehas nothing to hide… right? I enter the PIN and watch in amazement as the phone unlocks. One more glance over my shoulder at the bathroom door, and then I focus on the phone again, my heart in my throat, and tap into the recent call log.
I somehow manage to mute my gasp, and carefully replace the phone as silently as possible.
I save my tears for when I’m back in my closet, the closed door blocking out the rest of the world. It feels like day one again—lying on the floor, clinging to my dead brother’s jacket, wondering how and why and where it all went wrong.
The difference between then and now is that I know the answer.
Jace once told me that pain is the price we pay for love. That I’mnothing but a victim of loving the right person through the wrong times, all with the hope that there’s light at the end of the darkness.
I know he was referring to my mother when he said this, and he was right. I’ve always loved her. No matter what she said or did to me, I never once felt an ounce of hatred in my heart for her. I’ve made excuses for her, just like everyone else.
She’s grieving.
She’s grieving.
She’s grieving.
I’ve waited and waited and waited for the light at the end of the darkness, but I know the truth now, deep in my heart… There will never be light with her… not when sheisthe darkness.
With bated breath, I remain in the closet, my cries silent so I can stay unnoticed and listen out for when she leaves. It only takes ten minutes for her to shower, pack whatever clothes she needed, and leave her family behind.
As soon as I’m sure she’s gone, I sit up, wipe at the endless tears that won’t fucking quit, and find the number for her work.
Determined, I dial the number—the first step of putting my plan in place. If I’m going to do this, then I wantallthe information I can gather.
The call connects on the fourth ring, and I smile into the phone, hoping it will transfer in the tone of my voice. “Hi, I’m Harlow. I’m Marcella Greene’s daughter. I wanted to surprise her with some flowers and was hoping you could tell me if she’s there today. I haven’t been able to see her lately with school and work and all…”
The woman on the other endlovesthis for my mom; she tells me so herself. She’s also surprised that mother dearest has a daughter because she’s never mentioned me before. No surprise there. But, “She’s not working today, but she’s back on shift tomorrow morning.”
Morning?She works nights. She has since we moved here. “Does she rotate shifts at all? I know she did back in Dallas, so I wasn’t sure if it was the same there.”
She thinks a moment, before answering, “She worked nights for about a month when she first started, just until the position she washired for became vacant, but your mom’s the chief nurse for the day shift, so that’s her regular schedule now.”
“Okay, thank you!” I say so cheerfully it makes me sick. “And again, I want it to be a surprise, so please don’t mention this to her.”
“You got it.”
I hang up, my mind reeling, trying to catch up to all the lies my mom has spewed so effortlessly. I pull up her contact for the first time in months and send her a text:
Harlow
Hey Mom. I know you’ve been working a lot and you’re really busy, but I’ve started cooking since we moved here, and I’d love to make you dinner sometime… to say thank you for everything. Maybe Sunday night? I get off work at five, if you can be here around six?
I hold the phone to my chest, can feel my heart pulsing against my ribcage. It seems like forever before she responds.
Mom
ok
I swallow my nerves, my hands shaking as I reply.
Harlow