Page 8 of Keeping My Enemies Closer: Pt. 1

“And run away like cowards?”she gasped again.“What would everyone think?”

“Who cares what they’ll think?”I countered for the millionth time.“We’ll be long gone.”

“I have friends here, Zoya-”

“What friends?”I asked, finally snapping back.“Where are these friends of yours?No one has been to the house since the Korolevs branded us traitors.Our last name is tainted in this city, so what are we still doing here?Why can’t we go somewhere else to start over?”

Ignoring the remark about her non-existent friends, she asked, “Start over with what, Zoya?If we don’t have money to pay the bills, what makes you think that we have money to move?”

“We can sell the house and then-”

“I’m not listening to this,” she huffed.“I am not going to listen to you talk about selling our home.”

“Mom, I love you,” I told her.“I love you, but I amnotgoing to spend the rest of my life doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Supporting you financially,” I finally said.“I moved in with you as a temporary solution to help get us through this rough time, but I am not going to...to throw away my life by working two jobs because you can’t get it together.”

“You know, all this time, I’d been under the impression that I’d been a good mother to you,” she said, angering me even more.

“Don’t do that,” I said.“Do not try to emotionally manipulate me.”

“It’s not manipulation if it’s the truth, Zoya,” she fired back.“I wouldn’t think that it’d be such a big deal to pay me back during my time of need.”

“Pay you back?”I echoed.“You want me to pay you back for being my mother?Are you serious?”

“I’m not listening to this,” she repeated, but before I could say anything more, she stormed out of the kitchen, and all I could do was drop on one of the kitchen table chairs as the slamming of her bedroom door could be heard all throughout the house.

She made it sound as if I was the ungrateful one, but that wasn’t the case at all.I just wanted my life back, and she was a grown ass adult.She needed to finally take responsibility for her life, and her growth and happiness shouldn’t depend on whether I could pay her bills on time or not.

So, why did I feel guilty?

I was also self-aware enough to recognize that I wasn’t even sure that I could leave my mother, even if I had the means to.Before Uncle Armen had gotten himself killed, my mother had been a good person.She’d been funny, lively, charismatic, and I’d lost count of how many times we’d gone to dinner together to catch up like best friends.Our relationship had been solid and strong, but now I couldn’t even recognize what we’d become.

I could also do math, so even with the sale of the house, it’d be hard to start over if my mother refused to work.Even if we’d opted for a smaller home or condo, the leftover money would barely be enough to see us through any emergencies.As it was, the health insurance that I got from the diner didn’t allow me to add my mother since she wasn’t a minor or an incapacitated dependent, which meant that we couldn’t afford for her to even catch a cold at this point.

While I’d been joking with Marcelle about winning the lottery, that seemed like the only viable solution to this mess, but I also knew that winning the damn lottery was never going to happen.Not only was it a horrible plan-A, but I hadn’t been joking about not being able to afford a ticket.

As I sat and considered getting a second job, tears began to threaten behind my eyes, and despair was quickly bubbling to the surface.I felt alone and inept, and even though my brain knew better, my feelings were too jumbled to process that none of this was my fault nor was the aftermath any of my responsibility.

I felt trapped.

I felt trapped, and I didn’t know how to make the feeling go away.Sure, I could leave my mother to her own devices, but would I still be able to live with myself afterwards?Would I still be able to start fresh like I wanted to if I knew that my mother had been left behind to suffer on her own?

Probably not.