She nodded again. “I don’t want to be here…”
I told her to leave him but she never listened to me. She was always too scared that he would come after her and do something much worse. When I contacted the police, Mom lied and acted like nothing was going on. There was nothing I could do to help someone who didn’t want to be helped.
The easiest thing would be to cut off all contact and move on with my life. I kept being dragged back because of this. But I’ll never forget the way my mother protected me when he came after me. She took more hits than I could imagine, breaking her arm in two different places. She wasn’t strong enough to protect herself but she always protected me.
And I would do the same for her. “Let’s go to my place.”
***
“Want some coffee?” The coffee pot beeped when it finished brewing.
“Sure.” Mom sat at the kitchen table, hunched over with tears still stained on her cheeks.
“Cream and sugar?”
“Yeah.” Her voice was so weak it sounded dead.
I carried the mug to the table and placed it in front of her. Then I sat across from her with mine. It was black—the way I usually took it.
Mom stared at her cup and didn’t take a drink.
I stared at her and didn’t know what to say. I already had this conversation so many times and I couldn’t have it anymore. It never went anywhere. I could never instill reason in her. The next morning, my dad would come and apologize. Of course, she would forgive him like nothing happened. A few weeks later, we’d be exactly where we are now.
What was the point?
I sipped my coffee and thought about Francesca. I wondered if she was sleeping. If she wasn’t, what was she doing? I imagined her baking muffins in her kitchen wearing a pink apron. The delicious smell filled the house, making it feel like Thanksgiving all over again.
“You drink it black?” Mom stared at my mug.
“Yes.” I automatically took another sip.
She returned her gaze to her own mug. “So much like your father…”
My hair immediately stood on end and adrenaline spiked in my blood. Mom always said that like it was some kind of compliment. We looked the same, we talked the same, and now we drank coffee the same. I hated being compared to him…especially when I knew the similarities were true. “You can have my room. I’ll sleep on the couch.” I’d have to change the sheets. It would be awkward if my mother knew what I was doing in there just an hour ago.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” She sipped her coffee and stared at the table.
Like always, we acted like nothing just happened. We pretended that our lives were perfectly normal like everyone else’s. We had holidays just like the rest of society, and we were happy just like every other family.
But no matter how much we pretended, it never came true.
***
I killed the engine and sat outside her house. A light was on in one of the bedrooms, and I wondered if it was Francesca’s. Maybe she was working late on a paper. Or maybe she was reading.
I texted her. You awake?
She responded immediately. Who wants to know?
Her playful attitude always made me smile. Only she could pull that off. My mom was sleeping in my bed at that very moment, and my dad was still passed out in the hallway. But that seemed so far away. A very hungry man.
You want muffins at this time of night?
Don’t judge me.
You want to come over?
Would it creep you out if I said I was in front of your house?
Yes…that’s very creepy.
LOL. I can circle the block if that makes you feel better.
No. That’s creepier.
I laughed to myself. Your muffins make me crazy.
I get that a lot.
I rolled my eyes then got out of the truck. Open the door. I headed to the porch and stood under the light.
Francesca opened it, wearing plaid pajama shorts and a white tank top. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders and her face was free of make up. It was the first time I’d seen her that way, and I was surprised by how beautiful she looked. Most of the time, girls looked like a completely different person without make up. But she…somehow looked better.
Francesca grew self-conscious under my stare. “Don’t expect me to look like a beauty queen at one in the morning.”
“I don’t.” I stepped inside and moved into the kitchen. “But I don’t expect you to look like a monster either…”
She swatted my arm playfully. “If you want my muffins, you better not be a jerk.”
I searched the counters and looked for her newest creation.
“They’re in here.” She opened a glass lid to a display case, and the muffins were set on a thin sheet of white paper.
I sat beside her. “What are they?”
“Almond vanilla muffins.”
“Hmm…sounds good.” I grabbed one and immediately took a bite. “Damn, this is good. What’s your secret?”
“Like I would tell a soul.” She grabbed one for herself then picked at it.
“Come on, you can tell me.” I turned toward her and kept eating.
“Hell no. You’ll steal my recipe.”
“And do what with it?” I asked. “Do I look like a baker to you?”