Chapter 5

He went to pick her up, while I stayed at work for a meeting.

When I got home that evening, I opened the door to find Brenda sprawled on the couch. The coffee table was littered with peanut shells and sunflower seed hulls, with more scattered across the rug.

The TV was blasting some obnoxious reality show at full volume.

"You're back?" She gave me a sideways glance and spit another shell onto the floor.

I slipped off my shoes, looked at the trash, and kept quiet.

In the kitchen, Chase was cooking. He hadn't turned on the range hood, and the whole apartment was thick with smoke.

I walked in and flicked the fan on.

"Why didn't you turn the hood on?"

"Forgot." Sweat covered his forehead, and the food in the pan was already charred.

I took the spatula from him, wiped the pan, and started over.

He stood beside me, shifting nervously.

"What is it?"

"My mom might have to stay a few extra days," he mumbled.

"Her knees have been acting up. She wants to see a specialist, and the waitlist takes a while."

My hands paused.

"How many days?"

"Maybe... a week."

I went quiet for a few seconds, then kept cooking.

A week. I could handle a week.

Brenda stayed for three days without making a single move toward seeing a doctor.

She slept in until ten every morning. When I left for work, she was still snoring.

When I came home, she was glued to the TV, the pile of trash on the table growing bigger by the day.

On the fourth night, I finally asked Chase, "When is your mom actually going to see the doctor?"

He hesitated. "Appointment's booked. The day after tomorrow."

On the fifth day, Brenda and I finally had a direct confrontation.

It started over the laundry detergent I bought.

She claimed it gave her an allergic reaction and demanded I switch brands.

I said fine, I'll switch.

Then she complained the new one was too fragrant and gave her a headache.

I said fine, I'll switch again.

On the third bottle, she dumped the entire contents straight into the trash can.

"Buying all this fancy garbage, wasting my son's hard-earned money."

I stood at the kitchen entrance, holding a bowl of freshly washed fruit, my fingernails digging into the skin.

"Brenda, I bought that detergent with my own money."

"Your money? You're with my son! What's yours is his!" She rolled her eyes. "Besides, a divorced woman like you is lucky to have him. What's wrong with spending a little of your money?"

I slammed the bowl onto the counter, keeping my voice low and dangerous. "Brenda, can we stop bringing up my divorce?"

"Why shouldn't I? You did the shameful deed, and now nobody's allowed to talk about it?" Her voice spiked. "You think I don't know? Your ex dumped you because there's something wrong with you! Why else would a man throw you out?"

At that moment, I genuinely wanted to dump the fruit bowl over her head.

Before I could move, Chase charged out of the bedroom, stepping between us.

"Mom! That's enough!"

He yelled, his face flushed red.

Brenda recoiled in surprise, then immediately slapped her thighs and began to wail: "Look at the woman you brought home! Disrespecting your own mother! I wasted my life raising you!"

Chase looked between me and his mother in sheer panic, as if trying to solve an impossible puzzle.

"Mom, please stop crying..." He reached for her arm.

"I will cry! I want the whole building to see that my son threw his own mother away for some woman!"

The screaming match lasted half an hour, ending only when I went into the bedroom and slammed the door shut.

Chase knocked on the door for ten minutes, but I didn't open it.

At midnight, he used a spare key to slip inside, crawling under the covers and wrapping his arms around me from behind.

"Chloe, I'm so sorry," he whispered into my neck. "She's going to the hospital tomorrow. Once her knee is checked out, she's heading back home."

I didn't move.

"Just hold on for a couple more days, please."

I closed my eyes and said nothing.

But deep inside, a dark thought began to take root.