WINTER IN PARIS

wip || xxxvi.

"Then they had this thing every two days where the mothers with depression or postpartum would try to draw or write things for their kids or for their partners who they were hostile towards. So, I wrote you something." She dug in her pocket and pulled out a crinkly note, passing it to me.

I opened it up and it was a written note, obviously. It wasn't nothing major, but it was there.

"Dear Chase, I know that recently I have not been the best girlfriend. I've made mistakes throughout our entire relationship, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for trying to throw soap at you. I'm sorry that I said that I hated you—"

I stopped reading the note and stared at her with furrowed eyebrows. "You never said you hated me."

"I did. Multiple times, just not to your face." She said and I was staring at her with a look of surprise. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I was just upset."

I stared at her for a minute before I went back to reading the note. "Thank you for calming me down and dealing with me when a lot of people wouldn't. I love you for a lifetime. Love, P."

"I drew this." She dug into her bag and pulled out a picture of what I'm guessing was a mommy giraffe and a younger giraffe. "I wanted to make something for Namaree."

"Okay...okay, good. Good, that's good." I started up the car before I pulled off and she just leaned back in her seat staring at the picture.

•••

"I used to hate my mother," She blurted out. Namaree was sleep and Key was eating so we were just in our room waiting for Key to finish. I looked over at her confused because it was random.

"What?"

"I hated her." She shrugged, staring at the ceiling. "For multiple reasons. I wanted her to die. I wanted her to croak every single minute of every single day."

Who the hell did I have a baby by...

"Why you hate her?"

"At first I hated her because when my dad died, she made us get over it. It's like she didn't care so we couldn't care. My father was dead and he died in front of me but she wouldn't let me or my siblings care because their marriage was messed up and she didn't feel any type of way, so we couldn't. So I hated her." She started.

"You know why it was messed up?" I ain't wanna be nosy but if she was gone talk about her past I might as well get all the details while she open to give 'em.

"My dad sprained his ankle about six months before he died so he was prescribed pain pills and he got addicted. One of the reasons I ended up wanting to work with recovering addicts is because my dad was an addict and part of the reason he got into the car accident in the first place is because he was drunk and high off of pain pills."

"I—"

"Don't say that you're sorry or anything, it's okay I'm over it now." She turned to face towards me. "Then, I hated her because my brother died."

"Didn't he get hit by a car?" She nodded her head. "So how is that her fault? Why'd you hate her for that then?"

"Because all she did was put me in therapy for a year and suspected that I was fixed, but I wasn't. I'm still afraid. I don't like Cadillacs, I will never touch one in my life because the closest one I've been in contact with killed my brother. She stopped visiting him too, I hated that. Why did you stop going to visit your son?"