Free Under the Dusty Moon by Suzanne Sutherland Page B

talk about and could just go back to being ourselves. But I could tell that things were bubbling up just below the surface. I wanted my perfectly-normal - to-us life. For nothing to change, even though I sometimes hated Mom for being the weirdo she was. But it was already happening, I could tell.

Six
    M om and I stayed up until almost two in the morning watching Gremlins , which, as it turned out was a thing. It was pretty good. The parts of it that I saw, anyway. I passed out, drooling on Mom’s shoulder for the last hour of the movie, jolting awake just as the credits started to roll.
    We were slow getting out of bed the next morning.
    â€œYou mind making breakfast?” Mom called as she finished doing her makeup in the bathroom.
    â€œYou do remember that I broke my arm, right?”
    â€œAw, come on,” she said. “You can still fry up a couple of eggs, can’t you? Please? I’m so late.”
    â€œWhat,” I asked, getting the carton of eggs out of the fridge, “did you finally get sick of the muffins at work?”
    â€œAre you kidding?” Mom said. “Francisco’s muffins are the best in the state!” Francisco is Sal’s boyfriend, practically his husband, and does all the baking for Northeast Southwest.
    â€œCanada, Mom,” I said as I took the skillet out of the cupboard. “We live in Canada.”
    â€œI know,” she said. “But best in the province doesn’t have nearly the same ring to it.”
    She had a point. “Okay,” I called, “so why no muffins, then?”
    â€œI’ve just been starving lately, I go through four or five muffins during a shift and Sal’s not such a fan of me scarfing down his profits.”
    â€œAt least someone has business sense,” I said, clumsily cracking an egg with my left hand. Half a dozen fragments of shell landed in the skillet along with it. These eggs would definitely be Mom’s. “Besides, how can you be so hungry with this heat?”
    â€œDunno,” she said, coming out of the bathroom, with her hair still half-wet and hanging around her shoulders, but with flawless eyeliner — somehow on her that combination looked good. “Maybe I’m pregnant again.”
    â€œNot funny,” I said, trying my best to flip her sloppy eggs. “You’ve got to finish with one daughter before you start on number two.”
    â€œBut don’t you see?” she said, coming up behind me to give me a weird half-hug . “I could fix all the screw-ups I made with you. I could have a perfect kid!”
    She was joking. I knew she was joking. But the fact that we still hadn’t resolved our conversation from the night before and she was feeding me lines like this, ones she knew would irk me, got me pissed. While Mom crossed the apartment to change, I turned up the heat on the stove and watched her eggs slowly sizzle and burn.
    â€œGeez, Vic,” she said a couple of minutes later when she’d finally finished getting ready. “It stinks in here.”
    I scooped her scorched eggs out of the skillet and onto one of the plates I’d set out. Putting down the serving spoon, I handed them to her. I was amazed at how long it took to do anything with only one good arm. “Breakfast.”
    â€œHuh,” she said, surveying the slop. “Guess I better work on my material, eh?”
    â€œIt’s better than you deserve,” I said, half under my breath.
    â€œOuch. Hey, be nice. Remember who your human slobber rag was last night.”
    â€œYou’re the worst,” I said, turning the heat back down on the stove so I could cook my own breakfast.
    â€œHey, Vic, look at me.” She put down her plate and, taking me by the shoulders, made me turn to face her.
    â€œOw, god, Mom, my arm, remember?” I struggled out of her grip and massaged my right shoulder like I was in serious pain, even though it didn’t actually hurt. If