Mom’s been working the last few days and hasn’t said a word about Oliver’s dad visiting her. Today’s her day off, and I have a feeling she will bring it up.

Yesterday, I left class early, pretending I had abdominal pain. I came straight home. Mom didn’t ask much then, but today, I know the questions are coming.

I tried to avoid any intentional contact by sleeping in, hoping to skip breakfast. But she waited for me to wake up so we could eat together. She always says it’s one of the few chances we have to share a meal. I didn’t have the option to skip out this time.

It’s around eleven when she sets a bowl of pasta in front of me. I glance at her. She looks tired. The circles under her eyes are darker than before, and more grey is showing in her hair. I remember what Julie’s group said about her. It stung, because even though it’s cruel, I sometimes think the same.

“You should think about colouring your hair,” I say, casually.

She doesn’t respond right away. After a few moments, she says, “I’ve been saving some money. Maybe we can take a vacation in a couple of months. We haven’t done anything together in a while.”

As lovely as a vacation sounds, I can’t imagine spending days alone with her. I’d take staying home and reading over that any day.

“I’ve got a lot to study. I don’t really want to go anywhere. You could use that money for the salon… maybe even the gym.”

She looks at me for a long moment. Then she sets her spoon down and pushes away her half-eaten pasta.

That’s when I know, it’s about to start.

I keep my head low, acting like I’m enjoying the pasta. “This is great.” I try to change the topic, but she’s not ready to let it go.

“Listen,” she says. “I met Julie’s dad in town the other day.”

Don’t lie, Mom. I knew he was here.

“He told me about Oliver. About him coming here and staying here in the rain and everything. Why didn’t you think it was important to tell me? Why do you treat me like I’m the enemy? I work so hard for you. Why can’t you see that?”

“Don’t start with the story of how hard you work for me, Mom. I always tell you. Take some rest for yourself.” I pause, then add, “I’m looking for casual jobs here and there. I can take care of myself.”

There’s a silence. Pain flashes in her eyes.

“Really, Scarlet! I’m living only for you. You’re my only expectation.”

“Mom, please. Don’t expect anything from me in return for your favours.”

“Why, Scarlet? Why are you behaving like this with me? Why do you always stay in your room? Why don’t you have any friends?”

“You don’t know, Mom. You really don’t.” I let out a short, bitter laugh. “When I wanted to hang out with friends when I was younger, you stopped me. Said they were bad. You pushed me toward books instead. I never joined dance, sports, music, anything, because you never let me. And now, suddenly, you want me to be involved in all these activities. Well, I’m not interested anymore.”

“Scarlet, dear… we didn’t have the means back then. Not now either. You should be grateful you have a roof over your head and food to eat.”

I don’t reply.

“Why didn’t you open the door for Oliver? You don’t like him?” she asks.

I shoot back, “What did his dad say to you?”

“Nothing much,” she says. “He just apologized for Oliver’s behaviour and said he wouldn’t disturb you again. He doesn’t think you two are a good match.”

“Well, I don’t think he’s a good match either. That’s why I didn’t open the door. He’s dating somebody else, and I’m probably his second, third, maybe even fourth or fifth choice. Who knows?”

“He seems like a good boy,” Mom says softly.

I finish my pasta, wash the dishes, and feel her eyes on me the whole time.

As I head upstairs, I turn to her. “Just so you know, I don’t want to talk about Oliver or any other friends anymore.”

Then I take the stairs two at a time and slam the door shut.