Second Chance Boyfriend

bleached blonde hair away from her face. My mom looks tired. Old. Small and mean. Her eyes are hazy and I wonder if she’s drunk. Or high.
    She disgusts me. I can hardly stand looking at her. Yet…I also feel sorry for her. She’s my mom. Only forty-two years old and look at her, with her crappy life and her crappy boyfriend, going nowhere fast. I’ve been scared for years I’ll end up exactly like her.
    But I’m nothing like her. I have ambitions and dreams. I’m just putting them on hold until Owen’s old enough to take care of himself.
    “Go back to Larry’s, Mom. Go stay there and leave Owen and me alone, okay? Do you need money? Is that why you’re digging around my room? I’ll give you money. Just…let us be.” I go to the kitchen where I left my purse on the counter and dig through it, finding my wallet and pulling out a wad of dollar bills from last night’s tip money. “Is this what you were looking for?” I ask her when she follows me into the kitchen, holding the cash out toward her.
    She snatches the money from my fingers and stuffs it into the front pocket of her jeans. “I won’t refuse it.”
    Great. Doesn’t even bother with a thank-you. She’s a real prize.
    “Maybe I should stick around until Owen comes home.” Mom leans against the kitchen counter, trying her best for nonchalance. I know she’s really trying to get a rise out of me. Again. “I need to spend more time with my baby boy.”
    I refrain from rolling my eyes but just barely. “He’s going to his friend’s house after school.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean, he’s working on a class project with his friend after school. He won’t be home for hours.” I’m totally lying. They worked on the project last night. But I don’t want her lurking around here waiting for Owen and freaking him out. He’s uncomfortable around her.
    Pretty sad when a kid doesn’t like being around his mother because she’s so removed from his day-to-day life.
    “Great. So I’m not around, you’re not around, what kind of trouble is he getting into if we’re all too busy for him? Stupid kid,” she mutters, shaking her head.
    That does it. How dare she criticize Owen? “He’s a child. What do you expect him to do if no one is around to supervise him?”
    “Well, where are you?” she accuses.
    “I’m working!” The words explode from my chest. “Where the hell are you? Oh, I know, you’re out drinking and doing drugs with your asshole boyfriend. Maybe you’re sleeping in all day when you should be out hunting for a job? When you should be, you know, staying at home so you can be here for your son? Don’t blame me for your inadequacies as a mother. It’s not my fault you have better things to do.”
    I’m riled up all over again. No one else does this to me. No one. I’m usually the calm in a storm. I’ll rush to someone’s defense in a heartbeat, but I don’t get worked up easily. I’m also loyal to a fault.
    My loyalty to my mom disappeared years ago. I can’t count on her. No one can. She always acts like the victim or blames everyone else for her mistakes. She can’t own up to the fact that she sucks as a mother and she’s lazy.
    So I don’t mind reminding her of both.
    “I won’t tolerate your disrespect. I am your mother, ” she stresses.
    “Then act like one.” My voice is calm. Like scary calm. I cross my arms in front of my chest, practically daring her to step into the role she’s supposed to embrace every day of her life. Knowing full well she won’t.
    “I don’t need this sort of abuse.” She grabs her purse from where she left it on the coffee table and slings it over her arm, heading toward the door without looking at me once. “You can go to hell, Fable.”
    She slams the door behind her and a fall apart. Just…completely fall apart like a crying, out-of-control baby. I curl up on the couch and press my hands to my face, my tears soaking my palms. My entire body is shaking, I’m so angry, so frustrated, so…
    Ugh. There are too many emotions coursing through me to try to sort them all out. I’ve gone from the most extreme high to the most extreme low in a matter of minutes and my mind, my heart can’t take it any longer.
    Despite my anger, it feels good to cry. It’s a release from all the built up resentment and tumultuous emotions that have been swirling within me the last few months. Hell, the last few years. I don’t know how long I sit here, crying until my chest