Love Fast

As the Uber pulls into the trailer park, the urge to run is far greater than it ever was when I was stuck here. I know for certain there’s nothing my mom can do to make me stay, but that doesn’t stop the panic rising in my chest. I can’t catch a breath and my palms are slick with sweat—sensations I only realize were familiar now that I’ve been away from this place. I lived my whole life here in a state of anxiety. Now that I know what it feels like to live in Star Falls without those feelings, I can’t fathom how I coped all these years.

The car pulls to a stop and I want to ask the driver to keep the engine running. A conversation with my mom is inevitable, but I’d do anything to avoid it. I just want to dash into the trailer, grab my stuff, and come right back out again.

“You getting out?” the driver asks, pulling me from my panic.

I grab the door handle.

I’ll be back in Colorado in just over twenty-four hours. I checked into my motel on the outskirts of town straight from the airport. Tomorrow morning, I’m meeting Frank to sign paperwork. After that, I can leave and not look back.

There’s a small deck on the front of the trailer, but the single chair Mom likes to sit in to see what’s going on in the park is unoccupied. I glance up at the darkening sky. It’s about to pour with rain. She’ll be inside. Part of me hopes she’s out, though it’s unlikely. She rarely leaves the trailer. I have a niggling feeling that although I don’t want to see her, I need to face her. Maybe because I need her to see that I’ve broken free of her lies and manipulation.

I’d like to see Lydia and Kitty, but I don’t know if they want to see me. The burden of Mom’s demands will be heavier for them since I’ve left. They’ll probably resent me, and I don’t blame them. Still, I want to show them life can be different to how they imagine it’s always going to be. They can break free, just like I have.

I walk up to the deck, knock three times, and open the door. The familiar orange scent of Mom’s favorite air freshener sends me right back to my childhood. I scan the living room and there she is, watching the TV as always.

She knows I’m there—there’s no missing me—but she doesn’t greet me. She doesn’t even turn to look at me.

“It’s you,” she says, emotionless, not taking her eyes from the screen.

“I came to collect some things.” I manage to keep my voice steady.

“And where the hell have you been? Embarrassing the family like you did by running off on your wedding day.”

Embarrassing the family? She means embarrassing her. She doesn’t care about what happened to Frank or what drove me to run out on my wedding. She cares about herself and only herself.

“You don’t need to know where I’ve been,” I say. I know it will rile her that I’m being so rude, but I can’t help myself. In Star Falls, I’ve tried to forget about her, block her out of my thoughts. But there’s no escaping her now. She’s here, and she’s a monster.

The door to the bedroom I used to share with my three sisters opens and Lydia comes out, followed by Kitty and, finally, Marion. My heart lifts in my chest but sinks lower than it was before when I see the fear on their faces. They look so young. So vulnerable. They glance at Mom, unsure whether they’re allowed to speak to me. If they do, there’s no doubt they’ll suffer the consequences.

“It’s so good to see you,” I say, looking at my sisters. I try to keep it together, but I want to bundle them out of here and take them back to Colorado with me. I don’t want them to waste any more years doing what Mom demands of them. It’s more obvious than ever that despite the lack of bars, we lived in a prison. They’re still living in it.

Love surges in my chest for these young women who still have so much living ahead of them. I want to hug them. But doing so might create more difficulties for them when I leave. Mom will punish them. A huge wave of guilt for leaving them all here crashes over me. I should have been looking out for them. I should have been protecting them.

“They don’t want to see you,” Mom barks.

I glance back at my sisters to find their expressions say something very different.

“I haven’t changed my number,” I say. “I’d love to hear from you.”

“They have you blocked,” Mom spits. “We all do. You left this family the moment you ran out on us.”

I try to keep my expression blank, but inside it’s hard to hear what she’s saying. I know how she is, but who she is remains the same: this is my mother. There’s a tiny part of me that hoped she’d see me today and remember she loves me.

I face my sisters. I don’t want to engage with Mom. There’s no point. She’ll twist my words, try to make me the monster.

“I didn’t run out on you. I just knew I couldn’t marry a man I didn’t love to keep Mom happy.” My voice is calm but small. It feels so grating to be speaking against her like this, in front of her. We’d all complain to each other about her, but we always went along with what she said in the end. We didn’t feel we had any choice. But for the life of me, I don’t understand why I stayed as long as I did when I became an adult. I didn’t have to give her my paycheck. Why didn’t I just keep it and find my own place?

Because she was my mother and I thought it was her job to do what was best for me. I thought it was my job to do what she told me.

I was wrong on both counts.

“I miss you,” I say, looking at all my sisters.

Marion’s eyes are glassy. I don’t want her to cry. I don’t want any of them to face the consequences of missing me too.

Unless.

Unless.

Unless I could encourage them to break free as well. They’ve all finished high school. None of them have to be here. I can’t scoop them up and bundle them into the back of a cab, but maybe I can give them hope.

I glance back to Mom, whose gaze is stuck on the TV. She’s so mad, she can’t even look at me.

I look at my sisters, trying to convey, without words, how much I love them. I have to tread a tightrope. I want to show them how good it feels to be independent, but at the same time I don’t want to make their lives more difficult when I leave.

“You don’t have to stay here,” I say to them, not looking at my mother.

“Exactly what I was about to say to you,” my mother hisses, suddenly coming back to life, as if she knows what I’m saying threatens her. Like she thinks there might be a chance my sisters will listen to me and break free from her. “Why are you here anyway? I’ve burned all your things. There’s nothing left for you here. Just get out.”

Even though I’ve always known my mom can be cruel and nasty and hurtful, I don’t think it’s until this moment that I realize she doesn’t love me. Not like a mother should. She doesn’t love my sisters either. If she did, she wouldn’t lash out like this. She’s not concerned about how I’m feeling, where I’ve been, how I’ve been surviving. All she cares about is herself. Aren’t all mothers supposed to love their children? Mom doesn’t love any of us.

Of course she doesn’t love me. She can’t. It’s not in her.

The last thread of attachment I have to this woman withers and dies. A deep sense of sadness settles over me. It’s grief for the mother I should have had.

“You deserve a happy life,” I say to my sisters, pushing down the feelings of betrayal I feel straining to get to the surface. “You don’t exist to serve this woman, even though she’s your mom.”

“I thought I told you to get out.” She switches off the TV and turns to face me.

“I will not,” I say, meeting her eye to eye for the first time since I arrived. “I own this trailer. For now. I can stay as long as I like.”

I’ve never spoken to my mother like this. Never stood up to her, stood against her.

She narrows her eyes like she’s just waiting for the right time to strike back, then she snaps her head around to my sisters. “Get back to your room. You don’t need to see this.”

Marion scuttles off back into the bedroom. It hurts, but I can’t blame her. She’s sweeping up hair at a salon. She’s the only one who might not be able to afford her own place, even without giving up most of her paycheck to Mom.

“Mom,” Kitty cries. “Don’t be mean to her. She’s our sister.”

“She’s no daughter of mine,” she spits. “She always was a troublemaker. She’s a little bitch. She’s probably been sleeping in a bus shelter since she left here. She’s got a snowball’s chance in hell of surviving. And that’s what she deserves. Hell!”

I laugh. I can’t help it. Years of pent-up frustration just spills out of me and it comes out as laughter. I don’t know why, but she seems so pathetic, spouting off the most awful things about her daughter. A daughter who’s devoted her life to her.

It’s so clear to me. The lack of love and care is everywhere. It’s not that she’s selfish and mean and cruel. She doesn’t love us. Doesn’t care if we live or die. A part of me dies at the realization, but the rest of me is free—truly free.

“Do you see it?” I ask Kitty and Lydia. “You only exist to serve her. If you escape, she doesn’t want to know you. Because you no longer serve a purpose.”

“That’s right,” Mom interrupts. “That’s why they’re here. With me. You can get out.”

“Is that what you want?” I ask my sisters, ignoring Mom. “To be stuck serving a woman who’d disown you as soon as you do something she doesn’t like—like try and create a life for yourself?”

Panic and fear fill Lydia’s and Kitty’s faces, but they don’t flee to the bedroom. Part of them wants to hear this.noveldrama

“There’s a way out. And I can help you,” I say. I’m sure I can get them jobs at the Colorado Club. What’s left of my savings could get them cheap flights out to Colorado. It would be tight, but I could do it. “It’s frightening. I get it. But when you’re ready—when you see what she’s really like and you decide you don’t want to put up with it anymore—I’ll be waiting.”

“That’s it, get out of this house.” Mom stands and moves toward me. I don’t need to know what happens if I say no. I’ve said what I came to say.

“I’m sorry,” I mouth to Lydia and Kitty. I need to leave. I haven’t gotten my things or even the papers to the trailer that I came for, but I’ll have to figure out another way. There’s no way I can force my way into the bedroom and start going through things. Even if I technically still own this trailer, my mother will find a way to punish me or my sisters. I hadn’t planned for things to go like this, but I know I’ve done the right thing. I’ve given my sisters an alternative to the life they have. Hopefully, I’ve planted a seed, given them something to think about, convinced them that life beyond this trailer and Mom is possible.

Mom steps toward me, and I back away. She grins, like my acquiescence fuels her power—like she’s only happy when I’m weak. Except I’m not. Not anymore. Because I’ve found a place where I’m free of her.

I bolt out the door, sick to my stomach with the scent of orange and the hatred in my mother’s eyes.

I get to the bottom of the steps and am about to head to the exit to call a cab when something catches my eye. I turn my head to see Marion at the window. She’s waving furiously at me. When she sees I’ve spotted her, she points her fingers down.

I can hear my mother shouting inside the trailer. Marion drops the curtain and disappears.

I glance down where she was pointing and see something on the ground, outside the bedroom window. It looks like she’s dropped a bag of something—two bags of⁠—

I race over and realize Marion has stuffed my belongings in trash bags and dropped them out the window. Mom didn’t burn all my stuff. I don’t know if she thinks she did or if she was bluffing, but Marion saved this for me.

As quick as I can, I gather up the spilled items. I don’t stop to examine anything, but it feels like I’m stuffing an entire lifetime of memories into two shopping bags. School pins, greeting cards, the odd certificate. A high school diploma. I pick up the bags and scramble to the exit of the park before I call an Uber. I don’t want there to be a chance Mom figures out I have everything I need from that trailer. There’s nothing more I want from her.

In the car back to the motel, I pull out a dream catcher I made for Marion when she was born. I hold it to my chest. When Mom was pregnant with Marion, I couldn’t wait to have a baby sister. I was desperate for someone of my own. Someone to love. Kitty and Lydia had been born when I was too little to understand what was going on around me. When Marion was born, I used to wake up and feed her in the night. I liked when it was just the two of us in the dark. I’d tell her stories of princesses and knights in shining armor, dragons slayed and fairy-tale castles. I sang to her. I rocked her. I loved her. I was the mother to her I never had.

I have the chance to care for Marion and all my sisters again—to be what they deserve, instead of what they were born into. I can’t hand-feed them freedom, but at least today I got to tell them how it tastes. When they decide to venture past the walls Mom has put up around them—both literally and figuratively—I’ll be there, waiting on the other side.