Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Clearly, my mother has a type.
As the cab pulls up out in front, I brace myself for what’s coming because there’s a good reason why I don’t visit much—my mom is a cold-hearted bitch.
There isn’t a degree of warmth in her ice-cold demeanor, and she definitely has no maternal instincts. She only gave birth to Joey and me because my father wanted babies, and she wanted my father. But she made it perfectly clear from the beginning we were an unwanted interruption to her life.
When she opens the door, she’s hardly excited to see me.
“Well, look at what the cat dragged in.” She turns and walks away so I have to follow her into the living room. The house used to be nice back when my father was alive, but now it’s shabby and dimly lit, except for a ribbon of dusty sunlight breaking in through the curtains.
“You come to tell me it’s done?” she asks. Despite the early hour, she’s already sipping from a can of White Rascal.
Mom hasn’t changed much over the years, so her big hair, hooped earrings, and tight jeans are no surprise. She’s never gone easy with her makeup, and today is no different. She’s gone heavy with the black eyeliner and pink lip gloss, although the smoky-eye eyeshadow is new.
She looks like she’s stepped out of the 1980s.
When my father was alive, he put a lot of diamonds and gold on my mom. He also gave her all the money she wanted. But money can’t buy you class, and Ariana still doesn’t have a shred of it.
“No, it’s not done,” I say.
“Why not? You said you were going to do it.” She shakes her head as if I’m the biggest disappointment in the world, then lights a cigarette. “I should’ve known we couldn’t trust you to get it done.”
“It’s under control.”
“If that asshole is still breathing, then it isn’t under control.”
“Yeah, well, sending me stupid text messages isn’t going to make it happen any faster. Seriously, Tick tock, Aurora?” I gesture to the can in her hand. “You need to lay off the alcohol.”
“And you need to do what you said you were going to do.”
Frustrated, I challenge her, raising my voice. “Why should I?”
“Because if you want to continue suckling at the teat of your father’s wealth, you will do what I tell you to do.”
My father left me a small inheritance when he died. Money he made from shady dealings and his life of crime that kept food on the table and hundred dollar notes stuffed into the wall cavities of our house. For some reason, he put my mom in charge of Joey and my trusts until we turned thirty, which, for me, is only a year away.
Not that his money has ever been motivation for me to do anything. I’ve always been fiercely independent. And this suckling that my mom so eloquently refers to was actually me attending college.
“You know what, keep the damn money. I don’t need it.”
“Oh, that’s right, you dance now.” My mother scoffs, waving her can of liquor at me. “Shaking that ass for pennies.”
My skin heats under the weight of her patronizing tone and smug gaze.
Dancing might not pay as well as a trust fund or the crimes her various husbands commit to keep her in a certain comfort, but it’s been way more enjoyable hanging out with the staff at the Spicy Crawdad than the people my family associates with.
And I’d like to see her spin one hundred and twenty pounds around an aluminum pole using only her core muscles.
“Laugh all you like, but at least it’s honest work.”
“Says the woman who agreed to kill the man who murdered her brother.” She takes a drag on her cigarette and raises a skeptical eyebrow at me. “Tell me, how does that fit in with this newfound righteousness of yours?”
I lift my chin defiantly. “That’s why I’m here. I’ve come to tell you I’ve changed my mind.”
The amusement vanishes from my mother’s face. “What the fuck do you mean you’ve changed your mind?”
“Exactly what it sounds like, I’ve… changed… my… mind. I’m not doing it.”
Her lips tighten. “You told me you’d take care of it.”
When my brother went missing five years ago, I knew something bad had happened. Then last year when his rotted corpse was pulled from the watery grave in a Florida swamp, my worst fears were realized.
Following Joey’s funeral, my mother and I had shared a rare moment of affection. She had dramatically cried in my arms and pleaded with me to ease her pain. At the time, I didn’t know how. I couldn’t bring Joey back. I couldn’t change what happened. No, but you could avenge his death. Just like you took care of Donnie. We bonded in our grief, finally united by something, and it was all I’d ever wanted from my mother. Love.