Page 39 of Breaking Free
“Want me to help you?”
“No,” she replies with a smile. “I like this. I like having something to do, but thank you.”
I grin. “Okay. I’m gonna get some homework done before I have to go to work.”
“All right, baby.”
At the door, I glance back and watch her as she goes back to work, pulling weeds and putting them in a plastic bag. I think I hear her hum lightly. Normally, watching someone do yard work isn’t anything spectacular, but I’m happy she’s out of the house and doing something other than crying. She’s starting to live.
When I get inside, the aroma of food hits my nostrils, and as I inspect the kitchen, I find a slow cooker with what looks like Mexican casserole. I smile, glad that Mom seems to be doing so much better.
I get an hour's worth of homework done before I switch gears and make sure to pay all the bills. Mom’s running out of money. Fast. The insurance should come through soon, but it won’t stretch too far. I have some money saved, and once I start getting paid for working at the bar, I’ll be able to use that, but eventually Mom will have to find a job. Even though she seems to be getting better, I don’t want to push her too far too fast. And to be honest, I’m not sure what all she’s qualified for.
A knock on my door brings me out of my thoughts. “Yeah?”
Mom pushes the door open slightly. “Will you be able to eat a little before going to work?”
“Yeah, of course,” I reply.
She steps in and eyes the envelope to the waste department—the only bill I can’t pay online. “Bills? Are we behind on anything?”
“No, we’re fine,” I answer honestly.
We don’t have the extras like cable or five million streaming services. I cut off my Netflix account once I moved here and started helping with bills.
“For how long?”
I press my lips into a line. “Not for too long. The insurance will help, but…”
“I was going to use most of the insurance to pay down the mortgage.”
“If that’s the case, you’ll only have enough for a handful of months or so before you’re out of money.”
She forces a smile, her eyes glistening. “We’ll figure it out. Don’t stress yourself out too much. At least you’re on scholarship, and we don’t have to worry about you dropping out.”
I just nod along and follow her to the kitchen where she takes a couple bowls out of the cupboard and starts filling them up.
“Your dad always liked this meal,” she says, depositing the dishes on the table as I pull out a pitcher of water from the fridge.
I stiffen, hating hearing about him, but also afraid it will thrust her back into despair. I don’t say anything, because I have nothing nice to say about the man. I pour water into two glasses and sit across from her at the table.
Before I can thank her for the meal, she says, “Do you remember the time I cooked this, and your father wanted to help but ended up putting the wrong spices in and it turned out awful?” She laughs at the memory.
“I don’t remember.”
“Oh. Well, maybe you weren’t home at the time.”
The only times I wasn’t home was when my mom knew my dad would be in a terrible mood or anticipated a fight happening and would send me off to the park or to a friend’s house.
“What about that time—”
I cut her off. “Mom, I really don’t want to reminisce about him.”
Her smile drops and I feel like shit, but I can’t sit here and try to remember him being some amazing father and husband. He wasn’t. I have no good memories of him.
“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to...I don’t know...remember the good times.”
“There weren’t many, Ma,” I say with a sigh. “I can’t think of one time where he was good to me.”