I Have Lived and I Have Loved - Willow Winters Page 0,56

up to see my mom at the kitchen table, her laptop in front of her. A coffee mug sat to her right and there was a bowl of fruit to her left. She wore her headphones, and she bit her lip before she looked up.

Seeing me, her eyes widened, and we stared at each other.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

She took off her headphones. “What are you doing here?”

I frowned. “It’s after school.”

“Yeah, but you never come home anymore.”

I pointed to her computer. “You’re working?”

She turned to look down at her laptop as if she’d forgotten it was there. “Oh. Oh yes. I decided to take a day at home.” She stood, her chair sliding back, and she paused there. It was as if she wasn’t sure why she’d stood. “Do you want something to eat? An after-school snack?”

I didn’t want to, but I felt myself grinning. It was like I was in third grade again. “What? You’re going to cut up apples for me?”

“No. I would . . .” She stopped and continued to frown at me.

I heard her in the mornings, moving around, getting ready for work. My parents used to check in every night, and I stayed in my room until that was done, but they’d stopped last week. I stared at my mother, trying to remember the last time I’d seen her, the last time I had really talked to her.

I couldn’t remember.

But I did see how she flinched when she met my eyes, how she looked back down, how her hands gripped the table, and how she swayed in place as if she were about to collapse.

A silent storm built inside me. I felt a scream in the back of my throat, and as I stared at her—not moving, not looking away—I could feel that scream ripping at my insides.

I was wailing. I was crying. I was pleading for her to look at me again—because what mother doesn’t want to see her child’s face? But no sound came out.

I stood there for another minute. She didn’t look up. It was a reverse staring contest. I was demanding her attention in a passive and peaceful way, and she wasn’t budging.

“I’m still your fucking child.”

Her head snapped back. She was already pale, but her lips seemed to turn blue, and she swallowed.

“I know.” It came out as a whisper.

I moved forward a step and then stopped. She wasn’t saying anything else.

She should’ve been saying something else.

I waited, my heart pounding, and I heard her sniffle.

Her hand brushed over her cheek, and I saw her tears. She was crying so soundlessly, I wouldn’t have known it if she hadn’t moved.

She looked away before she began to speak. “I lost a child, and I have continued to fuck up being the right parent ever since. I work too hard every day to keep my mind straight. I don’t sleep at night because I know you aren’t in bed, but I’m so scared to make demands of you. I know you can make demands on me in return. Your father and I barely talk, except when we go see Robbie, and we haven’t once told you about those visits.” She heaved a deep and shuddering breath. “You don’t sleep at home, but then some nights you are here, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to feel about anything anymore.”

I couldn’t—what did she say? “You know where I am at night?”

She laughed bitterly. “I’ve not been the best mother, but I’m still a mom. You’re goddamn right I have a tracker on your phone.” She stared at me hard. “Are you having sex with him?”

My mind raced, but my stampeding pulse stopped completely. I felt it fall with a thud to my stomach.

“You know?”

Her lips barely lifted in a smile. It was more of a grimace. “Of course. I’ve known, and so do they, Ryan’s parents.”

“I . . .” I had no words.

“Nan called the other day, said you’d screamed in the middle of the night. Ryan put it off on their daughter, but they guessed it was you later on. She didn’t know if I knew or not.”

I felt lightheaded. “How long have you known?”

She took a breath and sat back down. “The first night you didn’t come home. You were with him?”

“You knew then?”

“We didn’t. We guessed.”

“Oh.”

I reached for the chair in front of me and pulled it out. My butt hit it with a hard thud.

My mother laughed again, the sound hollow. “It started that