Free Take Heart by Lauren Smith Page B

Raven couldn’t have made a better sale if she was an ice water salesman in the Mojave at high noon.
    I give her a slow smile. “I adore you.”
    “I’ll take that as a yes.” She spins on a heel and leaves to finish getting ready.
     
    * * *
     
    “Mom, for the last time, I’m not coming back and I’m not giving you any more money, okay?”
    I finally worked up the courage to call, waiting for Raven leave for class. It’s close to twelve, which means my mom has already started drinking, but she isn’t incoherent and bitchy yet. This is a calculated move—to call her back now instead of waiting until later in the day. She’s easier to deal with. The reason she called me earlier was to remind me about the house payment that’s due on the first. Figures. This woman usually can’t remember jack shit—my birthday, graduation—but she never fails to remember when I’m supposed to pay the house bill.
    “Why not? Do you not care about keeping a roof over our heads?”
    “I don’t live there anymore. My home is here now.”
    “Well, what about keeping a roof over my head? Do you not care about me anymore? You think you’re too good for this place now, is that it?” she accuses.
    I roll my eyes and bite my tongue. This is typical Mom. If she isn’t shitting on me then she’s guilt tripping me.
    “No, Mom, that’s not it. I told you I was done. I wasn’t kidding when I said that.”
    “Oh, that’s bullshit and you know it, Amelia. You can’t just up and move your entire life somewhere. You have responsibilities. You have bills to pay.”
    I take a calming breath and try not to let her succeed with her guilt tripping schemes. She knows exactly which buttons to push and exactly what to say to make me feel badly. I’m tired of always feeling guilty for her fuckups.
    I quickly recall the last conversation I had with my therapist before I left home. She told me I had to let go and try to get my mom professional help. According to her, it isn’t my responsibility to keep my mom above water. She warned me that my mom would probably have to hit rock bottom before she gets better. Apparently, we’re still in the seemingly never-ending spiral stage, and she hasn’t hit her bottom yet.
    “Mom, I’m cutting you off financially. I have cut you off financially. I’m not going back on my word. You need help and I need a chance to live my life.”
    I sit down on the edge of my bed and take another deep breath before continuing. It’s hard for me to say no to her, and, to be honest, I’m still learning and coaching myself as I go.
    “I love you, but you need help that I’m not able to give. By sticking around and taking care of you, I’m only enabling you to keep drinking. I can’t be your crutch anymore.”
    “Fine, we’ll just see how you feel about all of this when I lose the house. I’ll be on the streets and you’ll have no home to come back to when things go wrong down there in good ol’ Oklahoma.”
    Her words burn me like acid.
    “Texas, Mom. I’m in Texas.”
    “Whatever. Don’t even think about calling me for help. You’re on your own now.”
    “Always have been, always will be,” I counter.
    She hangs up on me. I let out a pained breath and lay back on my bed to stare at the ceiling, deep in thought. Even though I’m so far away, it feels as if I’m back there. And as horrible as this sounds, I just wish she would find someone to take care of her so that she doesn’t have to be my problem anymore. She’s become nothing but a financial burden over the years, and I’ve given up a lot, especially just to have it thrown back in my face.
    Instead of getting upset over something I can’t control, I decide to go for a run to let off some steam. I throw my long hair into a ponytail, and change into my yoga pants, a tank, and running shoes. I reach for my headphones on the nightstand, plug them into my phone, and select “Plan B” by Mutemath to block out my thoughts.
     
    After my run