“Haven?”
Mallory’s voice was the glue that haphazardly pieced me back together. Slapping a smile on my face, I wiped away my tears and faced her.
“Hey, sorry. The stupid dumpster was overfilled.”
She saw straight through my lie but like a true friend pretended to believe me. “No problem. As soon as you wash the floors you can leave.”
“Great.”
The floors were spotless in record time and I quickly changed out of my uniform. A walk around along the riverfront was badly needed. The rain had turned into a downpour. Throwing my hood over my head, I battled the wind and made my way east. The poor weather chased away the usual mommy joggers with the strollers and hundred-dollar workout clothes. Alone with my thoughts, they turned to the last mother-daughter date my mom and I had.
She was living in a crummy studio apartment. Her latest fling had been a year before that and she hadn’t been able to get another one since then. The drug abuse had taken its toll, smudging her beauty into a watercolor painting. My mom’s settlement money from Sumiko’s dad was running short and she had grown depressed. I knew all of this, yet, was shocked at her state when we met for breakfast at a diner near Cadillac Square. She slid into the booth opposite me and flashed a weak smile.
“Hey.” Her voice was like sandpaper. “How are you?”
“I’m good. Working.”
“Yeah? Where are you working?”
“A couple of places.”
My mom reached for the sugar packets. She stacked them on top of each other and grimaced. “Sorry for not reaching out sooner. It’s been a crazy month.”
A sarcastic retort was at the tip of my tongue but I bit my cheek. “No worries. Is there a reason you wanted to meet?”
“Can’t a mother see her baby girl without a reason?”
Years of regret and bad choices hung between us. My mother sighed, dipping her chin forward. “I need help.”
“With what? I don’t have any money.”
“I only need a hundred dollars.”
I barked out a laugh. A hundred dollars wasn’t chump change. The fifty I’d lent her two months before could’ve gone toward groceries.
My mom flagged down a waitress and ordered a cup of coffee, black. She could have used some food as well. The clothes she wore were two sizes too big.
“She will also have a stack of pancakes and scrambled eggs.” I injected.
My mom slid me a look, which said she wouldn’t eat any of that but I couldn’t help it. Our roles had been reversed since I could talk. The waitress came back a minute later with my mom’s coffee. She added four packets of sugar, enough for a diabetes coma.
My hands folded on the table. “So you need money.”
“Yes.”
“For drugs?”
My mom looked around anxiously, as if the police were going to bust into the diner. She lowered her voice into a harsh whisper. “Jesus, Haven, do you have to be so blunt?”
“I don’t believe in beating around the bush.”
“Obviously.” A beat passed. “My supply is running low.”
“And? Haven’t you ever thought to quit?”
“I’m not an addict.”
This was the same conversation we had whenever we saw each other. My mom believed her pain pills were needed due to a long ago back injury. Her hands shook as she lifted the cup to her lips. The sleeve of her t-shirt lifted, revealing track marks on her milky white skin.
Anger burst hot and quick through my veins. “Then explain why your arm looks like it has been stuck with a needle?”
My mom tugged at her sleeve. “I got my blood drawn.”
“Bullshit.” I had enabled my mom’s addiction for too long. I was done. Throwing my money on the table, I slid out of the booth and faced the woman who didn’t deserved to be called a mother. “You wont find happiness in a syringe. I hope you come to find that out sooner than later.”
My mom’s tiny pinprick pupils met mine. “You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t.”
The next time I saw my mom she was dead by the very thing she wouldn’t give up and months later, I still didn’t understand.
Water dripped down my forehead as I stared up at Andrew’s loft. His blinds were pulled back and the floor to ceiling windows offered little privacy. Night had descended since my walk to the lakefront. I debated returning to my apartment, but my legs had a mind of their own and went in the opposite direction.
A couple spilled out of the bar next-door, giggling. Their hands interlocked as they swayed together like a unit. The man whispered something in his girlfriend’s ear and playfully slapped her butt. She squealed in delight. A weird pang of longing hit me square in the gut. Usually a drunken couple shoving their love in my face would be the bane of my existence. Tonight though, I found it sweet. It’s not easy to find somebody to slog through life with. My mouth tipped into a scowl. God, I was starting to sound like a romantic. The couple slinked into an alleyway where a couple of seconds of later¸ moans shattered the silence.
Gross.
Tightening my belt on my jacket, I walked into Andrew’s building and rode the elevator to the fifth floor. As the doors opened, Andrew’s handsome face came into view. I took in his strained features. It looked like I wasn’t the only one who had a tough day.
His gaze locked with mine and relief shined brightly. “You’re here.”
“Where else would I be?”
He tugged me out the elevator and into his arms. Taken aback, my muscles stiffened but it didn’t take long before my arms wrapped around his shoulders.
Concern lined his mouth as he pulled back. “You weren’t at work.”
“I went for a walk.”
“For eight hours?”
“You disappeared for longer than that last night,” I said defensively.
“A drug dealer isn’t after me.”
“So? That just means you can leave without letting me know where and I can’t. To my knowledge, you invited me into your home as a guest, not as a prisoner.”
Andrew ran his fingers through his hair as an exasperated sigh left his lips. “I thought you had gotten kidnapped or worse, killed.”
“Those sound equally bad.”
His arms flew into the air. “I know!”
Andrew’s clear concern for my well-being confounded me. My whole existence I didn’t have to report to anybody. I came and went as I pleased. A luxury as a teenager, but as I grew older the fear of slipping in the shower and not being found manifested into a worry of mine. So much so, Monica gave me a Life Alert button for Christmas.
I touched his elbow. “Hey….”
Andrew’s brown eyes lifted and a rush of affection swallowed me.
“I’m sorry for worrying you. Here’s a crazy idea: We should exchange numbers.”
His gaze twinkled with laughter. “I don’t know. That is a huge step for us.”
“I know but I think we can handle it. Be warned of my overuse of emojis though.”
“What are emojis?”
Thinking he was joking, I burst out laughing until confusion on his face confirmed otherwise. Andrew was a brilliant artist, business aficionado, and jack-of-all-trades, yet didn’t know what emojis were.
“You know? Those smiley faces people put into their text messages,” I explained.
“I don’t text.”
My mouth hung open, dumbfounded. “You don’t text?”
“No. It’s not a proper form of communication. I believe in actually hearing the person speak instead of reading a string of meaningless words.” As if gearing up for a speech, Andrew cleared his throat. “My grandmother has a chest filled to the brim with old love letters sent to her by my grandfather when he was at war. He took the time to remind my grandmother that she was on his mind and that he still loved her and couldn’t wait to hold her again. A text message isn’t the same. It’s flippant.”