Free Hot Tea by Sheila Horgan Page A

chalkboard erasers in grade school.  It wouldn’t be fun, but it wouldn’t take long, and might buy me some goodwill.  “I’ll talk to him.”
My mother, God love her, came back with, “And just how will that work Love?  One child telling the other to grow up and act responsibly when it is she that has no job, isn’t even looking to find one, and has no roommate to share the load.  Maybe I’m just not seeing things clearly, but aren’t you looking a wee bit like your brother?”
I said, “Should have seen that coming.  Sorry.” 
We all chuckled a bit, then I continued, “You know Mom, I could point out that if multiple children that you not only share your gene pool with, but also had the responsibility to raise, are turning out alike, maybe it isn’t our fault.  Maybe my current issues are actually your fault.  Ask anyone, if the kid is screwed up, it’s the mother’s fault.”
She didn’t laugh.  That’s not good.  Instead, she smiled.  Worse. 
She said, “My darlin’ girl, everything that happens to a child before the age of 18 is the responsibility of their parents.  Not their fault necessarily, but their responsibility.  Everything that happens between 18 and 21, well, that’s a transition period, and we pray a lot.  After 21, the child is grown, and life is their own responsibility.”
She took a breath, and looked straight at me, “I’ll not take the credit for your glory Cara, nor will I take the blame for your tears.”
Her aura completely changed, she smiled and said, “Of course those ages are estimations.  Are you saying you would like for me to take responsibility for my children again, to take them back to the rules and goals we had before 18?  Perhaps find you the job of my choosing?”
That had backfired.  Badly.  Never try to turn things on a smart mom.  It just never works out to your advantage.  I should know that.  She has more experience than I.
I sat there looking stunned with visions of Mom sleeping on my couch, the only way she would be able to enforce the rather strict rules I had as a teen.
Teagan chimed in, “Mom, Cara doesn’t need a job, she has a plan.” 
If I had been certain that I could kick the ever-loving shit out of Teagan’s leg, and not break my mother’s by mistake, I would have.  I wasn’t willing to take the chance.  We all know, hit your mom, even in error, and you’re going straight to Hell. 
My mother pretended not to feel the tension between Teagan and me and innocently said to me, “And what plan would that be Love?”
I took a breath and tried to center myself.  Although the Blarney Stone and I have a rather intimate relationship, and I can talk my way out of anything, remember that the Blarney Stone has initials, and those initials are BS, and any mom, but most particularly my mom, can see their own child’s BS coming a mile down the road. 
I said, “It isn’t really a plan, I’m simply looking at an entrepreneurial opportunity that was brought to my attention.  I’m going to give it my attention for a few days, if it’s viable, great, if not, I’ll look for a real job.”
“And just what entrepreneurial opportunity are you looking at?  Would Dad and I be interested?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well Love, if your father and I wouldn’t be interested, then I have to wonder if it’s a good opportunity for you.”
I took a deep breath, sending up a really quick prayer, that I hoped God would hear, and took the plunge, “Mom, not everything I’m interested in is going to be of interest to you and Daddy.”
“Perhaps not, but your father and I will always have a keen interest in what you girls decide to do.”
“Well, since Teagan is the one that brought it up, and she has been kind enough to consult with me, maybe she can describe it for you.  She’s good at that.  Public speaking.  Sharing information.  Her inability to keep her mouth shut is legendary.  But then, her mouth probably isn’t what