My body is hot. The blood pulsing through my heart and into my veins feels like it’s on fire. Mom stands frozen, her face defiant and the muscles of her arms twitching underneath her short-sleeved navy T-shirt.
“I won’t regret a thing,” I say and clench my teeth. “What kind of life did you dream for me when I was a little girl? One where I have to lie all the time? One where I have no one who really knows me? Where I am always waiting to feel the barrel of a gun pointed at my back? Is that the life you always wanted for me?”
“No, I’m not saying that, I’m just saying—” she starts, her voice calm and still.
“Yes, it is!” I scream and swallow the urge to sob. “Because if it wasn’t, then you’d actually let me choose. You wouldn’t be standing here arguing with me.”
The vein in Mom’s neck is throbbing. Her chest rises higher with each breath. She’s about a minute away from exploding. But I keep going.
“Why did you even have a child?” I cross my arms and tighten my lips. Mom’s chest doesn’t fall. She sucks in a breath and holds it in her lungs.
“Why did you even have me if you weren’t going to be around to raise me?” I push harder. The words taste metallic and bitter as they roll off my tongue.
“I’ve been here to raise you, Reagan. Don’t talk to me like I’m some deadbeat mother. Look at the house you live in,” she yells and points around the room. “Look at the car you drive and the clothes we buy you and the schools you get to go to. A million girls would kill for your life.”
Jesus Christ. I close my eyes and shake my head. She doesn’t get it. Maybe she never will.
“What could you possibly want that I haven’t given you?”
“Just you.”
Mom’s muscles release. She drops her arms to her sides, unsure what to do with them now. She looks away, runs her hand through her blond hair and then glances back at me. My hands, my feet, my legs are tingling again. I take a deep breath, trying to fill my body with new air to make it stop.
“You know, it really sucks when you realize just how selfish your parents are,” I say, my voice barely audible. “You never should have become a mother if you wanted to be a Black Angel. And that’s why I’m making this decision. I want a baby someday and, unlike you, I don’t want her to ever be in danger. I’m walking away because, unlike you, I’ll put her needs before mine. My love for her will never, and I mean never, feel like second place.”
Mom’s bottom lip trembles. She opens her mouth to speak, but the words won’t come out. We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other. I watch her bite her lip, fighting the tears that lie on the rim of her eyes. She searches my face and for the first time in years, she really sees me. Every bad and broken part. She takes in all of me. And I don’t think she likes what she sees.
She’s still just staring, willing her mouth to move, for words to come when I turn on my heel and start climbing up the stairs. I leave her in the dark, our fight still bouncing off the uncomfortable fancy furniture and hardwood floors.
“I’m sorry, Reagan,” Mom calls after me. I stop halfway up the stairs and turn around. A tear has broken free and is falling down her face. It rolls down her cheek and drips off her chin. She doesn’t bother to wipe it away. It’s strange to see her like that, frail and hurting. I’ve never seen her cry.
She sniffs back the tears and continues, “I’m so sorry I haven’t been the mother you want me to be.”
Her words punch me in the gut. And I almost give in. I almost take it all back so she can sleep tonight. But I just can’t do it anymore.
“It’s too late for sorry, Mom. It’s just too late.”
I head up the stairs. The smooth wood of the stair rail is cold and the chill I’ve been suppressing finally runs up my spine. Every step I take is heavy, every new breath hard, and this staircase has never felt so long.
It’s only once I reach my bedroom door that I hear my mother break down and sob.
SIXTEEN
A gust of wind whips my hair across my face and rustles my book and papers on the table. I pull the dark strands back into place and tug my open black fleece jacket closer to my body. It’s a few degrees too cold to be sitting outside, but I can’t bring myself to go sit in the library or an empty classroom. With each class, the walls move closer and closer in on me.