Peaches

Twenty Six

Her head was held higher now, brightness in her eyes when she woke in the mornings. There was a beam of hope that she saw in herself, and she was able to make the best of it.

Over time, she grew used to chatting with me on a more regular basis. Less of the mindless ramblings and more genuine reaches for conversation. She wanted to get to know me again. To learn who I was as her daughter, and as a woman.

Through those questions, I could find that we were a lot alike in personality. Big dreamers with headstrong devotion. Her idea of dreaming big was to live big, in every way possible. Drugs, being the highest point on her ladder to leading an extraordinary life.

After sharing a rundown of how Chris and I became what we are now— a couple, Momma revealed to me that she settled with this life that she created with my father. Not only for the drugs, as she had told me before. She settled because of the promises.

My father was a dreamer himself, but that's all they ever were. He talked his way into the small successes he achieved in life and weaseled his way around situations. To some, you could say that my father was a scammer. A con.

Momma thought that he would get better, seeing the light spark in his eyes when he saw me, holding me for the first time as his little baby girl. She had hoped that I would be his saving grace.

But after he gave himself to his addiction, he didn't want to be saved.

It was painful for her to watch him spiral, but he took her down with him, and she went gladly.

Momma had always wanted better for us, and at times she felt she had the courage to leave. The only thing stopping her was him. It was always him. The heroin was just an added bonus.

"He just loved you so much," she said to me, tears flickering over her red-rimmed eyes as she spoke solemnly.

My father promised her a way out of their wreckage, but in trying to do so, he only worsened his mistakes. The worst part about it was that he was aware of it. He knew that he had ruined any great chance of making something good out of his life, and that killed him before Daddy did.

After everything that she had been through, Momma was glad to see that I had it differently. She saw how dedicated Chris and I were to each other, working days and nights to keep money flowing in, while also holding a decent romantic life. It was a surprise to her, but my happiness brought her happiness.

She just didn't know the price of that happiness. The blood that had been shed. The anger and hurt, our pain was our cell and we were prisoners for life.

—

"Hey," Momma strode into the kitchen where I stood hunched over her ancient cookbook from the 80s, trying to read the faded print lettering. "Don't forget to let the onions simmer before mixing everything together."

"I was going to," I mumbled, pushing the book across the countertop with a defeated groan. "I just don't know what to do after that."

"Did you mince the garlic?" She sipped on her sugarfree Red Bull through a straw and sat at the dining table, pulling out her sudoku puzzle that she would eventually yell at.

"I peeled them and put them in the pan, yeah."

"You've got to cut them up." Momma resisted a laugh as I frowned at the solid white bulbs of garlic that sat in the sizzling pan. "You wouldn't want a whole clove in your taco, would you?"

"What am I supposed to do? I don't have time to chop everything up before—"

"Turn the burner off, take the garlic out, and chop everything up. It's easy, Ambriella. Stop overthinking."