Page 70 of Ravaged For You

And so I finally get around to calling my mother. I take out my phone and scroll through for her name.

I know I shouldn’t feel so bad calling the woman who gave birth to me. A catch-up with her should be a good thing. A chance for me to get things off my chest and reassure her of my place in the world.

But I know what Mom is like.

And I know I have to ask her to come to LA, for Astrid’s sake.

“Hi, Mom.”

She answers the phone in a rushed manner, as if I’ve interrupted a crucial moment in her day. She does this all the time, so it’s not unusual. Plus, she doesn’t exactly work, so it’s not like she’s busy. She only sometimes – rarely – volunteers at the church she goes to every weekend.

“Maddie. What a surprise. You never call.”

“I did a few weeks ago, remember?”

“Oh. Yes.”

She’s sharp and harsh. I feel like I’m being admonished like I’m twelve again.

“How are you doing today, Mom?” I ask her.

“Not too good. My back hurts. But I did spend the morning reading my Bible. Please tell me you’ve been doing the same…”

I take in a deep breath and try to steady myself.

Here it comes.

“I’ve been very busy, Mom,” I reply. “My life has gone pretty crazy at the moment. There are actually some things I need to tell you.”

Mom is going to focus on the Bible thing, I’m sure of it.

All of this really has nothing to do with religion or the Bible. Everyone’s entitled to their belief. But, for Mom, it’s all simply an excuse for her to attack me for something I can’t refute without seeming morally bad. And I just know that attack is on its way.

“You can never be too busy to not read your Bible, Maddie.”

I quickly try to change subjects.

“Like I said, I’ve got something to tell you.”

“I hope this isn’t about the money you owe me,” she replies. I want to correct her that I don’t technically owe her anything. It’s money I’m giving her of my own will. “Because I’m very reliant on it. You’ve already forsaken me for going to that cursed town.”

I ignore that last comment.

“Don’t worry about the money, Mom. It’s not about that. The thing I want to tell you is that I’m actually starting to date someone.”

I rush it out.

There’s a long pause as Mom takes it all in. I can imagine her sitting in her chair in the living room, mulling it all over and stroking her chin. Her eyebrows darting down like arrows as she comes to terms with what I just confessed.

I close my eyes, readying for what’s to come.

“Is he a good Christian boy?” she eventually asks.

Of course, that’s her first question.

“I haven’t exactly asked him about his faith yet, Mom.”

“And why haven’t you?”