Lauren went inside.
The place was a mess. An open pizza box covered one end of the counter. A collection of beer bottles stood beside it. Potato chip bags were everywhere. The room smelled of cigarettes and sweat.
Mom lay on the sofa, arms and legs akimbo. A rumbling snore came up from the tangle of blankets that covered her face.
With a sigh, Lauren went into the kitchen and cleaned everything up, then she went to the couch and knelt down. “Come on, Mom, I’ll help you to bed.”
“Wha? Huh?” Mom sat up, bleary-eyed. Her short, tousled hair, platinum this month, stuck out around her pale face. She reached shakily for the beer bottle on the end table. She took a long drink, then set it back down. Her aim was off, unsteady; the bottle thunked to the floor, spilling its contents.
She looked like a broken doll, with her face cocked to one side. She was porcelain pale; blue-black mascara smudged around her eyes. The faintest hint of her once-great beauty remained, like a glimmer of gold trim on a dirty china plate, peeking through. “He left me.”
“Who did, Mom?”
“Cal. And he swore he loved me.”
“Yeah. They always do.” Lauren bent down for the beer bottle, wondering if they had any paper towels to blot up the mess. Probably not. Mom’s paychecks were getting thinner lately. Supposedly it was the sagging economy. Mom swore that fewer women were coming to see her at the salon. Lauren figured that was half of the story; the other half was that the Hair Apparent Beauty Salon was four doors down from the Tides tavern.
Mom reached for her cigarettes and lit one up. “You’re giving me that look again. The fuck me, my mom’s a loser look.”
Lauren sat down on the coffee table. As much as she tried not to feel the sting of disappointment, it was there. She always seemed to want too much from her mother. When would she learn? These continual letdowns were eating through her. Sometimes she imagined she could even see them as a shadow above her heart. “The college fair was today.”
Mom took another drag, frowning as she exhaled. “That’s on Tuesday.”
“This is Tuesday, Mom.”
“Aw, shit.” Mom leaned back onto the nubby avocado-green sofa. “I’m sorry, honey. I lost track of the days.” She exhaled again, scooted sideways. “Sit.”
Lauren moved fast, before Mom changed her mind.
“How did it go?”
She snuggled next to her mother. “I met a great guy from USC. He thought I should try and get recommendations from alumni.” She sighed. “I guess who you know helps.”
“Only if who you know will pay the tab, too.”
Lauren heard the hard edge come into her mother’s voice, and she winced. “I’ll get a scholarship, Mom. You’ll see.”
Mom took a long drag on her cigarette and turned slightly, studying Lauren through the filmy haze.
Lauren braced herself. She knew what was coming. Not today. Please.
“I thought I’d get a scholarship, too, you know.”
“Please, don’t. Let’s talk about something else. I got an A+ on my honors history paper.” Lauren tried to get up. Mom grabbed her wrist, held her in place.
“My grades were okay,” Mom said, unsmiling, her brown eyes growing even darker. “I lettered in track and basketball. My test scores were damn respectable, too. And I was beautiful. They said I looked like Heather Locklear.”
Lauren sighed. She edged sideways, put a tiny space between them. “I know.”
“Then I went to the Sadie Hawkins dance with Thad Marlow.”
“I know. Big mistake.”
“A few kisses, a few shots of tequila, and there I was with my dress up around my waist. I didn’t know then that I was fucked in more ways than just the one. Four months later I was a senior in high school, shopping for maternity dresses. No scholarship for me. No college, no decent job. If one of your stepfathers hadn’t paid for beauty school, I’d probably be living in the street and eating other people’s leftovers. So, missy, you keep your—”
“Knees shut. Believe me, Mom; I know how I ruined your life.”
“Ruined is harsh,” Mom said with a tired sigh. “I never said ruined.”
“I wonder if he had other children,” Lauren said. She’d asked this same question every time her father’s name was mentioned. She couldn’t seem to help herself, though she knew the answer by heart.
“How would I know? He ran from me like I had the plague.”
“I just … wish I had relatives, that’s all.”
Mom exhaled smoke. “Believe me, family is overrated. Oh, they’re fine till you screw up, but then, wham!, they break your heart. Don’t you count on people, Lauren.”
Lauren had heard all this before. “I just wish—”
“Don’t. It’ll only hurt you.”
Lauren looked at her mother. “Yeah,” she said tiredly. “I know.”
FOUR