Chapter 4: The Storm

Abigail’s POV

The sky changed from its warm orange to burnt sienna and finally a cool gray by the time I arrived home. I passed the dimly lit living rooms and kitchens where my neighbors settled in for the night. My house was still fully lit. Momma was waiting and probably pacing about the living room.

I pulled the car very slowly into the driveway. I couldn't let Momma know I pulled up. She would run out of the house to shout in our yard and disturb all our neighbors. I held the handle of my car door like it was my lifeline, then I pushed it closed slowly. The gentle click seemed to echo twice as loud in the silence of the sleepy suburb where we lived.

I took a deep breath and entered my front door. But first, as usual, I took off my boots and juggled them in one hand and my purse and wine in the other.

Momma sat on the couch, tapping her fingers on the armrest. She stood up as soon as she saw me.

“Did you bring my cigarettes?" She was not shouting yet, but her tone was short and frustrated.

I felt my heart drop to my stomach and the two of them intertwined in a messy rage that made me feel like throwing up.

“I’m so sorry, Momma. I forgot –”

Her booming voice overtook mine. It was powerful but harsh. Elle’s was powerful too, but protective.

“D*mmit, Abigail! What am I gonna do with you?”

I sat on the couch and held my head in my hands. She towered even higher over me where I sat. She was a storm cloud that cast darkness on my perfect, warm evening, and she shot lighting at me.

“How could you do this to me? Your own mother? I slaved all day over a stove just for you! And you made a promise.”

“I’m sorry, Momma.”

“As you should be. Two hours late!” She lit up a cigarette butt so small it should have been sucked down her throat with her deep inhale.

“And what’s this? Wine?” She picked up Elle’s signature choice of wine that I placed on the coffee table on my way in.

“You couldn’t remember one small favor for your own mother, but you can remember to get drunk on your birthday!”

“I’m not drunk, Momma, and I’m not getting drunk.”

My answers didn't quell her frenzy. Each time she opened her mouth, she resembled the angry tomato-man at the convenience store. “Twenty-three years old and you’re still acting like a child. Pushing your family aside and sneaking about behind my back!”

I couldn’t tell if this was one of her drunken rants or a normal rant. It was late enough in the evening for her to already have her routine whiskey and cigarettes before passing out on the couch. I thought she was sober this time because she was able to correctly stand up. She had the strength to constantly wave her stub of a cigarette above her head and trail a ghostly tail of smoke behind it.

When she got in these moods, the best thing to do was to let her get worn out like a child wailing for candy at the convenience store.

“I was on track to be married by your age, Abigail. Because I actually took my Momma’s advice! She introduced me to your father, and I –”

Her raving became background noise while the gears of my brain invented an out from her trap. I waited for her to take a breath before speaking.

“Momma?”

“What?” She was blunt. I really hoped my idea would work.

“Momma, I'm late 'cause I was with James at the convenience store. I’m sorry, Momma. We got to talking, and I lost track of time.”

Momma raised an eyebrow. Anything was better than shouting at this point. “For two hours after your shift ended?”

I had to use keywords I knew would mellow her rage. “Yes, Momma. We were talking and catching up. We got to talking about relationships.”

Her mood softened enough for her to reply in her normal tone of voice, but I wasn’t out of danger yet. I was at a yellow light and proceeded with caution.

“What about relationships, Abigail?”

“Well, uh…” I didn’t want to take too long to answer. “Uh…just how I’m tired of being single. That’s when James told me he is too.”

“Is he now?” Momma smiled, just enough to lift the crow’s feet around her eyes lifted.

I only lied to protect myself, but a part of me felt guilty. I convinced myself this lie was okay because it was based on truth. James was single, but Momma hadn’t the slightest clue his real reason as to why. It was best for both me and James if we kept that secret between the two of us.

“Yes, Momma,” I replied.

“I always liked James, ever since you two were little. He was such a cute little one, with his big blue eyes and red hair!” She took the final puff of her pitiful cigarette. “I had a feeling he has a crush on you.”

I forced a grin that hurt the dimples in my cheeks. If Momma thought the boy who used to play princess dress-up in pre-school was my soul mate, I’d let her have that delusion for tonight.

“So, Momma, since I ran home in the middle of our conversation –" I paused to read her mood. She was not as red as before, but her arms were crossed. "I was thinking of going back to talk more with James tomorrow?”

“Well, if it's for James, then alright.” Momma was smiling in the corner of her mouth, but her arms were still crossed. My goal was to make her relax her tightened shoulders and stiff arms.

“Thank you, Momma.”

Momma placed a hand on my arm, and it made me leap in my seat. “From now on, if you’re hanging out late with James, just give me a call. I am your mother after all, and I want you to be safe.”

“Okay, Momma.” I looked at the wine on the coffee table. I wanted a drink in bed, a mindless comedy on tv, and a cat at my hip.

“Is it alright if I get washed up and ready for bed? I got work again tomorrow.”

“Alright, Abigail," she waved her hand toward the stairs. "Go on.”

I got up and snatched the wine off the table. I headed for the stairs and had to step over a clump of cat hair on my way up. I couldn’t make it to my bedroom before I heard Momma calling my name.

"Abigail!"

“Yes, Momma?” I answered from the top of the stairs.

“Before I forget, try that lipstick out I got you with James tomorrow!”

I sighed. “Sure, Momma.”

“Boys want to appreciate your natural beauty!” She said.

I gritted my teeth but smiled through the conversation to make it end. “Okay, Momma!” I called from up the stairs.

“Good! Goodnight, hon.” She replied.

“Goodnight, Momma!” I shut the door behind me and slid to the floor next to Peaches. She awaited my return and rubbed against my legs.