Page 87 of Begin Again

“Now,” she said. “Have you been?”

She didn’t want to be harsh, but it was what her mother had said before. She’d had enough drama in her life and it was hard to keep letting someone in that was only going to hurt you again and again.

She didn’t want her sister to go through this any more than her father.

“No,” her mother said. “I’ve been on the streets and living with friends. I had nowhere to go. I got help and am in a home now. I’m trying to get back on my feet.”

“I’m glad,” she said. “That’s all anyone has ever wanted for you. You just never wanted it for yourself.”

“No,” her mother said, looking up. There were tears in her mother’s eyes. She looked much older than her fifty-four years. Her mother had her young. Her parents were both twenty when they married and she was born months later.

She’d done the math to know she was conceived before the wedding. Those early years though she didn’t remember much other than her mother’s moods being up and down and a lot of fighting.

When her mother was smothering her with hugs and kisses one minute and then turning her away as if she were the devil’s child left on the doorstep the next.

When Abby was born, her mother had been better. She’d been on her meds and was stable. Then one day, she just wasn’t. Leaving and not returning for days. Going on benders of drinking and drugs to dull the pain of her mental illness rather than taking the meds that would help her.

It was a vicious cycle her mother couldn’t outrun even though there were people who wanted to help her.

It might have been one of those long looks she’d had in the mirror after she’d left Tanner.

That there were people out there who wanted to help and she couldn’t or shouldn’t push them away. She didn’t and she was where she was because of that.

If she could get her mother to see that, it might help.

“Do you want it now?” she asked. “Is that why you tried to contact Abby? Or did you call her because if you contacted me I’d talk about this like I am now and you weren’t ready?”

“I don’t know what I wanted back then. I think I just wanted to know that one of my daughters would talk back to me if I reached out.”

She let out a breath. “I’m talking to you now.”

“Because I showed up at your door,” her mother said.

Liz poured the eggs into the hot pan and stirred them around. She grabbed some shredded cheese to add too. It always tasted better that way.

When the toast popped up she buttered it and got two plates down.

She put the food in front of her mother with a fork.

“Eat up,” she said.

“If I didn’t show up and tried to text instead would you have replied back?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But I could have chosen to ignore you ringing my bell and I didn’t so that should say something.”

Her mother nodded her head and started to eat like a starving woman. “These are good. Just like I used to make with the cheese.”

“I remember,” she said.

Her mother looked up and nodded again and continued to eat.

“I want to get better,” her mother said when her plate was cleaned up and she was reaching for a slice of toast.

“I think you believe that. But you also know there is no cure. To get better is medication. It’s maintenance. You can’t just take it when you want. You can’t substitute drugs and alcohol in its place.”

“I know that,” her mother said. “It’s hard.”

“Life is hard,” Liz said. “Where are you staying now? How were you able to get out?”