Page 15 of FWB

Kenny

I find myself opening up to her more and more with each interaction. Tonight, while sitting in bed at the Red Roof Inn, I speak with her about my mother.

“Are you close to your family?” she asks.

“Not really. I lost my mom when I was really young, around five years old. My dad tried to be there for me, but he was grieving too. He married my stepmom about a year after my mom passed away. He wanted me to have a ‘mother figure,’ and along with her came her two daughters, who are three and five years older than me. So, I kind of grew up alone. That is until Sam came along. He’s really been the only person in my life that’s been constant. ”

“I’m so sorry about your mom. How did she pass, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Car crash. Drunk driver hit her.”

She clutches her chest. “Oh, my god. That’s terrible.”

“Yeah, I was so young that I don’t remember much about her.

I remember her blonde, curly hair and her green eyes.

She also had the most magnificent laugh that filled the entire room.

I wish I looked more like her, but I’m actually the spitting image of my father.

He’s a good man, but he lost a part of himself when she died.

I think looking at me reminded him of everything he lost. We don’t talk much anymore.

We only call on birthdays and holidays. I try not to call with any major life updates because he can kind of fly off the handle sometimes. ”

“You were just a child, and you lost your mother. You were so young that you probably didn’t even get to properly grieve, let alone understand what was going on.

I’m so sorry you had to go through that.

But I totally understand not being close with your parents,” she says as she places a gentle hand on my thigh.

I take a sip of my whiskey. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.

I’ve been pretty much by myself my whole life.

I’ve never really needed anyone to take care of me.

I’m independent to a fault. I had to learn how to grow up real quick.

Don’t get me wrong—I love my family. It’s just that I’ve never been that close to them. ”

“I get that. I didn’t know my dad till I was in my twenties. I have half-siblings, but I don’t know them either. I grew up an only child; just my mom, grandma, and me. We moved more times than I can count, always on the go trying to make a better life for ourselves.

“My mom has always been depressed and an alcoholic, but when my grandma passed away nearly ten years ago, she spiraled. I’ve never seen her in such a dark place. I thought I was going to lose her too.

“A few years ago, we moved in with my Aunt Tweetie because she had the room, and I wanted to get back to Nashville. I had moved back in with my mom in East Tennessee after living in Nashville for a few years after college, but it was so expensive that I had to leave. Anyway, Mom went into this deep depression when we moved. I think she was missing Grandma and wishing she could have been there. She ended up going out behind the building where I stay and ‘accidentally’ slitting her wrists open. My aunt was at work, but Mom had called her to say goodbye. Aunt Tweetie called me and I left work immediately. I don’t even remember the drive.

I just remember praying to whatever god would listen that my mom was okay.

“When I pulled in, I ran throughout the house, looking frantically for her. She was nowhere to be found. I went out back to check my room. She wasn’t there either, so I started searching the property.

I found her lying behind my hut, bleeding out.

I remember screaming. My neighbors came rushing out and called 911.

Henry, my neighbor, literally took the shirt off his back to staunch the bleeding. ” She pauses.

I just sit there, too stunned to say anything. I don’t even know what I could say in this situation.

She goes on. “She tried to make it look like an accident so we could collect on her life insurance. She actually thought we would want her blood money. She begged for us to keep silent on her suicide attempt because she didn’t want to be locked up in the ‘nut house,’ but the hospital staff weren’t stupid.

They knew it was intentional. So she was forcefully admitted to a mental health facility about an hour south of Nashville.

She wouldn’t speak to us for a month when she was finally released.

She was convinced we had ‘ratted her out’ to the authorities and hospital staff, even though we kept her secret.

We told the hospital staff that we didn’t know how it happened.

It didn’t matter, though. She still blamed my aunt and me. ”

I let out a breath I’d been holding in. “Wow. I would never know by looking at you that you’ve been through so much.”

“I like to think I compartmentalize well. When I’m home, I deal with what I need to.

But when I’m away, I try not to dwell on it.

There’s no point. My mother is never going to change.

Sometimes—and god, this is going to make me sound awful—but sometimes I wish that she would’ve been successful in her attempt that day.

At least then she would finally be at peace and not constantly at war with her own mind. ”

“That doesn’t sound terrible to me. That sounds more merciful than anything.”

She takes a sip of the beer that she’s been holding. “I guess. It’s just terrible to essentially want your own mother dead. And I feel especially bad for wanting that around you, when you’re mom …”

“Have you talked to her about getting help for her drinking?”

She huffs out a laugh. “More times than I can count. I remember telling her once that I wished she loved me more than she loved alcohol. Do you want to know what her response to that was?”

“What?” I dare to ask.

“She told me she wished I loved her as much as I loved food. As if my eating is comparable to her drinking. I know I’m fat, but I’m not hurting anyone by being bigger. She’s hurting everyone who cares about her with her drinking.”

“Jesus. That’s a horrible thing to say to your own daughter.”

“I know. That’s why when my aunt eventually succumbs to her cancer, I don’t plan on having much to do with my mother.

I’m taking my inheritance and getting the fuck out of there.

I don’t know where I’ll go. Maybe I’ll stay in Nashville.

All my friends are here, but I’ve thought about Seattle or New Orleans too. At least for a little while.”

“I get New Orleans, but why Seattle?”

“Funnily enough, my mom and I took a mother-daughter trip up there a couple of years ago to try and mend our relationship. I fell in love with Washington while I was up there. I can definitely see myself living somewhere in the middle of the woods in a yurt or something. Plus, you can’t beat the excellent weed,” she says, giving me a sly smile.

“I take it your relationship wasn’t mended?”

“We had a good time, don’t get me wrong. But it’s going to take a lot more than twelve days to fix over thirty years of trauma.”

“I get that. I’m really sorry you have to deal with that all the time.”

“Thank you. It is what it is. But I’m tired of talking about such heavy stuff,” she says, setting her beer down on the bedside table. “Come over here and kiss me.”