Jack's Mom

I slammed the door so hard the jamb stung my shoulder, an aftershock echoing through the walls of the old split-level like it wanted to run from the house. The kitchen was a little too clean. Smelled like burnt butter and lemon. I hated lemon.

Mom was at the stove, back to me, fluttering over a saucepan like it was a holy relic. I watched her for a second. She was smaller than I remembered. Maybe I’d gotten bigger, or maybe she’d shrunk since Dad left. The belt around her robe looked like it’d come off a clearance rack, faded floral print knotted at her waist so tight her ribs showed when she turned. At the sound of me crashing into the house, she turned, her face drawn in shock and surprise.

“Hi, Mom,” I snarled, reaching for her with one outstretched hand. “I’m home.”

She made this little squeak, like a mouse caught in a spring trap. Didn’t move. Just blinked, her jaw slack. When she finally realized she was being attacked, it was too late.

“Don’t.” My hand shot out and caught her wrist, just above the bone. The skin there was thin and cool, the pulse frantic under my thumb. I squeezed, hard enough for her knuckles to whiten. The spoon clattered against the floor.

Her voice quivered. “Jack. Please.”

I backed her against the edge of the counter. Her other hand tried to shield her, but I shook her by the wrist until she let go, her palm smacking the Formica with a hollow thunk. The other hand reached instinctively for the dish towel but I pinned her before she could grab it. She smelled like cheap perfume and sweat. I bent down, putting my face inches from hers. “You don’t get to ‘please’ me. Not after last time.”

She looked up, then, and I saw the old fear, the kind that used to put a thrill in my veins. I missed that feeling. I missed having control. I leaned in closer, let my breath warm her cheek.

“In case you forgot,” I whispered. “You said you hated me, and I said I hated you enough to get even. Guess what, Mom? It’s time.”

She tried to twist away. I pushed her harder into the counter, felt the wood flex at my thigh. “Stop, you’re hurting me.” There wasn’t even conviction in it, just practiced indignation. Her voice ramped up the volume as she continued. “I’m your mother! Let go of me!”

“Don’t remind me.” I yanked her forward, forcing her off balance. Her knees buckled and I shoved her down. She landed hard on the tile, the impact vibrating up through my grip. She stayed there, on all fours, hair in her eyes, the robe sagging open at her throat. “Do yourself a favor. Don’t get up. I really want to knock you down again.”

The fear radiated off her in waves. I guess she never thought I would really come back. That I’d come back for her.

I undid my belt with my free hand, the buckle jangling, metal on metal. The sound galvanized her. ...