Free Finding Fate by Ariel Ellens Page A

neglect and the drinking because it gives me a hint of what life could have been like.
    I pause.
    “You never told me how your afternoon was...”
    “Fine,” I say.  “Just fine.”
    “So closing the bakery and sneaking away for hours is just fine ?”
    Now it’s my turn to spin around, my finger in the air, pointing at her like a gun.  I probably look just like her but I don’t care right now. 
    I’m speechless for a second, debating on what to do.
    “You have no idea,” I say, keeping calm.
    “I have no idea?  You don’t know what it’s like... now I have to do it all by myself.”
    Okay, no more calm.
    I charge at her, wanting to slap her.  My own mother. 
    “I do everything,” I say.  “I go there, I work, I bake, I sell, I clean up.  I do it all.”
    “You read recipes and sweep the floor.”
    My eyes are filled with tears.  I don’t want to cry but I’m losing it.  “I need a break.  I can’t do it anymore.”
    “What?  Is it a boy?  Sneaking away, like you’re in high school?”
    “Better than getting pregnant in high school like you.”
    Oh, that hurts her.
    She comes at me and the alcohol saves the day.  She trips, stumbles, and reaches for the table even though its way too far out of reach.  Down she goes again, to the floor.  This time she manages to get up, which surprises me.  When she stands, she wobbles, but holds herself.
    “You’re ungrateful,” she says.  “You’re lazy.”
    “That’s why I’ve been holding the family business together on my own, right?”
    “I manage the books.”
    “You take the money.  And by the way, if you keep that up, we’re going to be shut down soon.  Enjoy.”
    We both freeze and now she’s crying too.  It’s probably a sad sight to see, mother and daughter crying basically for the same reasons but still can’t find the middle ground to hug each other.
    “The business is dying?” my mother asks.
    Welcome to reality.
    “Of course it is,” I say.  “One person can’t do it all.  And I’m tired of it.”
    I think there’s a sense of clarity coming over my mother but I don’t trust it.  Not one bit. 
    “So, what, you want me to show up and bake?”
    I shake my head and wipe my eyes.  “I just want a mother.”
    My mother turns her head.  She won’t go near the statement because she knows no matter what she does, she knows she’s wrong.  And unless she’ll admit that, nothing will ever change.
    I let a few seconds pass by and then ask, “How did you find out?  About me closing?”
    “Babs Ekert called me.  She had the house number memorized.  I forgot there was a house line.”
    “There’s three phones in the house,” I say.  “Don’t they ring?”
    My mother looks at me with dazed eyes.  “I don’t know.  I don’t remember.”
    “So that’s how you live... you have no memory.”
    “My memory tells me you closed what should have been an open business.”
    “Because I needed a break.”
    “Then go take your break,” my mother says.  She points, offering me to leave.  I already plan on leaving but having her point just makes it all too real and it makes it hurt.  “Go home.  The bakery is closed tomorrow.”
    Fine.  It’s closed then.  I think of Grammie and my heart starts to twist.  I vaguely remember times when she worked seven days straight and if she did there was a break always coming.  Or she had the comfort of Grandpa.  They were happy so it wasn’t work for them.
    This is torture for me.
    Pure torture.
    “You need to quit drinking,” I say.  It feels good to stand up for myself.  Finally.
    “You need to quit bothering me,” my mother throws back at me, without so much as a breath.
    “Fair enough,” I say as I take a step back.
    I take another and then I’m gone.  I make it to the front door just in time to hear my mother sob.  It’s her drunken sob, extra loud, lots of tears, and emotions she won’t remember in the morning.  Tomorrow she’ll fight a