Simone.

Glimpse of Us by Joji floats through the speakers. The soft wind blowing through the open window of my car is supposed to make this afternoon peaceful. But it's not. It's far from peaceful.

There's a tight knot of discomfort and uncertainty forming in my stomach. It has been there since this morning when Mom called to tell me she had booked her flight and would be here later this afternoon.

The road ahead of me is deserted, no cars in sight. I glance at the colors streaked across the sky, fading into each other as the sun sets.

On any other day, this would have been a view to die for, but the soreness in my body and the pending anxiety attack suggest otherwise.

My mind wanders back to last night. One look at Zack’s face, and the smile he gave pushed all the guilt I had suppressed inside me to the surface. One glance at him, and I regretted even daring to do something so shameful with Abby. I shouldn’t have let myself get carried away like that. I shouldn’t have encouraged her when she gave me those lustful looks or sweet words.

I have Zack. I have a husband, and he loves me so much.

Gutted by guilt, I tried everything to make things right, I used every nerve I had to seduce the hell out of him and he did the job. He fucked me back and front, east and south until he couldn't get it up anymore and I was shivering from multiple orgasms. I think last night's sex was the best we have ever had in a while. 

When I woke up next to him this morning, he was staring at me like I was the most precious thing on earth, and my heart melted at the sight. I swallowed my regret and promised myself I’d come clean at the right time. But I had to enjoy the moment before it slipped away from me.

He updated me on his trip, though he vaguely mentioned his secretary. I decided not to dwell on that. Somehow, the idea of him fucking her didn’t hurt me as much as it did before I did things with Abby. It’s just a fair game in my eyes.

A ding sounds from my phone, and with one hand still on the wheel, I use the other to tap the screen—against my better judgment.

Abby: [I made out with Kenya the night of the barbecue. Just thought you’d want to know.]

Suddenly, my grip on the wheel loosens, my mind is no longer on the road. My thoughts spin uncontrollably as I replay this annoying scene over and over: Abby cradling Kenya’s face the way she cradles mine, kissing her lips with the same energy she used with me.

Something twists inside my chest, and it takes a second for me to realize the car is reeling off the road.

I slam on the brakes, causing the car to jerk forward. I almost hit my head on the wheel.

There’s a honking car ahead of me. I stop the car and release my grip on the wheel.

The car that was coming toward me passes by slowly. The driver, an older man, looks concerned, but I mouth, “Sorry,” and he moves on.

My heart is still racing, but not from the near-accident. It’s Abby’s text.

Did she really make out with my husband’s side piece? And she didn’t think it was necessary to tell me before now?

What does this mean for me? For her?

God, I hate her so much.

My ringing phone jolts me out of my trance. I don’t want to look at the screen, afraid it’s something worse, but when I do, it’s just Mom. I lift the phone to my ear and answer.

“Are you coming, or should I get a cab?” Her voice has an edge to it.

She doesn’t like to be kept waiting.

I swallow. I wish I could explain to her that I almost died.

“I’m almost there,” I say, letting out a low breath.

The line dies, and I exhale before starting back on the road.

When I pull up to the airport parking area, my stomach is in knots. My eyes sweep through the crowd. She’s not hard to spot. Her appearance alone tells you everything.

I finally see her standing with a suitcase at her feet. She looks just as I remember—impatient, uptight, and with that little frown on her lips that seems to have found a permanent home there.

Her eyes snap to me like she can feel me glaring at her. She looks over at the car and then back at me. I suck in a breath, preparing myself, but nothing can fully brace me for this. I’m not ready for the judgment that follows.

I kill the engine and I'm about to climb out to help her with the suitcase, but she’s already letting herself into the front passenger seat.

“Mo—”

“Well,” Mom cuts me off, giving me a once-over. “You’ve put on a few pounds since the last time I saw you, haven’t you?”

Her words, though in a playful tone, hit my stomach like a harsh blow. I want to say so many things to her, but I swallow past the lump forming in my throat.

“Nice to see you too, Mom,” I try my best to steady my voice, but it’s failing me.

She doesn’t bother replying. She just gestures toward the back of the car. “Please grab my bag, sweetheart.”

Oh my god! I want to scream, but I only tighten my grip on the steering wheel for a moment before I climb out, biting the inside of my cheek to contain my anger.

I carry her small suitcase and toss it into the trunk. When I get back into the car, Mom is fiddling with my playlist, pressing “next” without bothering to listen to a single song. It’s like she’s doing everything she can to frustrate me.

“You’ve got sad music,” she comments as I pull out of the lot.

There’s silence for a few minutes. Her hand rests on her lap, and my eyes are fixed on the road. I hope she doesn’t say anything, but of course, she can’t help herself.

“So, what’s happening with you? Are you still doing that thing for working from home?” she asks, her words dripping with sarcasm. “Or have you finally decided to find a real job?”

I grit my teeth. I want to hit something.

“I’m still working.”

She hums, a condescending sound. I’m not surprised. I’ve gotten used to it because she uses it every time, just to remind me that I’m doing everything wrong, that my life is just a chain of poorly made choices.

I can feel her eyes boring into the side of my face, but I refuse to look at her. She can scrutinize my sweater and jeans all she wants, but I’m not giving her the satisfaction.

I can’t believe Abby tricked me into believing Mom would want to mend our dysfunctional bond.

She was so wrong about this, and I want to yell at her for it.

Mom isn’t here to bring us closer. She’s here to deepen the rift.

+++

Heh! Mom is exhausting.