Page 28 of A Foster Fling
“Well, um. I guess if you aren’t up for speaking today, we can call it early?” Dr. Webber pipes up after a long moment of silence. “Same time next week?”
I get to my feet and walk out, not bothering to answer because he knows what I’ll say. In a few months when I hit eighteen, I’ll finally be able to ditch his ass and never look back. Dealing with my loss on my own is how I’d rather do it, anyways.
Once outside, I send my mom a message to come get me before lighting up a joint. The burn from the hit calms my nerves, the second settles my soul. The rest just keeps the demons at bay.
Just as the high settles in, my phone chimes twice.
Mom: on my way, getting gas
Derek: my place tonight? Got some good kush and a fresh bottle
I ignore my mom’s text and reply to Derek.
Me: abso-fucking-lutely
The sun is setting in the distance and it makes me cringe. Nights are the worst. Your thoughts become louder as the world becomes quieter. I sigh, lean against the dirty building wall, and close my eyes.
Just a few more weeks of this, and I’ll be gone.
My academic scholarship kicks in in the fall and the second it does, I’ll be on the first bus out of here.
Beep, beep.
Opening my eyes, I see our shitty Honda Accord pulling into the parking lot with a smiling mom behind the wheel. She waves as she gets closer.
“Hey!” she says as she rolls down the window. “Come on, slow poke. We ain’t got all day.”
Stubbing out my joint against the wall where she can’t see, I stuff the roach into my pocket and smile. “Coming.”
As I get in, she asks, “So, how was it today?”
Fuck, I don’t want to talk.“Alright, I guess. He says I’m doing better and better each time he sees me.” I lie, but she’ll never know the difference.
“I’m so happy to hear that.” The pain in her voice is evident, but I choose to ignore it. She’s not the only one hurting.
I glance over and see her tightly gripping the steering wheel. It takes everything in me to keep my cool. I wish I weren’t angry at her for what happened. I wish I wasn’t angry at all. But I am.
I’malwaysangry.
The car is quiet for a long time as we head home. Every now and again Mom would open her mouth to say something, but each time she would stop herself.
“What?” I ask.
“Hm? Oh. Nothing.”
“You’ve been trying to say something for the past ten minutes.” She only does this when it’s important. Like when she told me we were moving out of my childhood home, it took her two hours of walking past my bedroom door before I had to stop her and ask what was going on.
“Well,” she starts, wringing her hands on the steering wheel. “I got a call from Frank—”
“No.” I stop her instantly.
“You didn’t even let me finish.”
“I don’t care. No. Or wait until I’m gone before you bring in another fucking—”
“You stop right now. I am your mother and you will NOT talk to me like that!” Mom barks, rolling to a stop at a red light. “I haven’t said anything yet. I told him I would talk to you. But honest to God, Cole, I can do this. Even if you’re against me on it.”
“Then why even ask me? Why bring it up? If you’re just going to foster another kid without my input, why ask me?” My blood boils while my heart pounds in my chest. She’s been trying to foster again since we were cleared after Gabe. She knows how I feel about it, but it seems she doesn’t care.