Simone.

When Abby and Beth leave, I want to go to bed as soon as possible, but Mom insists I sit with her a little.

So, I sit with her on the balcony, the late evening air cool against my skin. The distant hum and buzz of insects and the soft rustling of leaves in the garden below offer a gentle atmosphere.

But I can't get my heart to stop beating so fast.

Mom is wrapped in a cozy fleece blanket and she sips on her tea. The mug is carefully cradled between her palms. I, on the other hand, settled for a glass of red wine, hoping it might provide a much-needed distraction from the chaos burning inside me.

I’m not drunk, but I wish I were—anything to numb the anxiety. It's hard to make conversation with Mom in a sober state, but I will try my best. Hopefully I can keep it short and go to bed.

Mom's brown eyes linger on me as I settle into a chair across from her.

My mind wheels back to earlier this evening when she called me out of the bathroom, she gave me that same gaze. And when Abby followed a few minutes later, that same look was on her face.

Sharp and assessing.

Knowing her, I am convinced she has finally put two and two together. There's no way that could have been a confidence ---not even I would believe whatever bullshit I would spit out if she asked me about it.

I say a silent prayer that she shouldn't bring it up even when the thick air between us suggests otherwise. Maybe I'm just selling myself, maybe I should act a little cool about it and she won't suspect a thing.

"Zack?" Mom cocks an eyebrow.

"Sleeping."

I hate Zack for unknowingly bailing on me. He is currently sprawled on the couch, passed out from being drunk. He was okay up until the moment when Mom made one of her comments about how nice it was to have kids around.

It’s a sensitive topic for Zack and me. I think I learned how to handle mom more than he did. He doesn't have to, she is my mother and he is only the son in law forced to endure her insufferable ways.

"So, how are things?" Mom finally breaks the silence, her voice soft but laced with concern. I wish I could believe that she is truly concerned about my well-being. But I know she is only fetching for a story and make comments like she always does.

I take a slow sip of my wine, the rich flavor doing little to soothe the burn in my chest.

"Okay," I lie, my voice betraying me. It brings out the desperation that boils inside.

The truth is; I'm far from fine. Nothing has been okay for a while but Zack and I refuse to let go. We are stuck in this mutual dissatisfied state where we can't get ourselves to live without the other. It's toxic in more ways than one, but none of us can let go.

But I can't tell that to Mom. She will just break into her usual: I told you so. I can't stomach that right now.

Mom’s eyes pierce through mine. "Are you still trying for a baby?" she asks, her tone a mixture of hope worry and impending judgement.

I shake my head. "No," I reply, the lie tasting like acid on my tongue.

It's weird how I don't feel guilty about lying to her anymore. I have in fact been visiting the hospital regularly, undergoing tests even when there are no clear answers. The doctors continue their investigations, and I have successfully managed to keep this away from Zack's ears.

There’s a heavy pause as we sit in the growing silence. The gentle clinking of Mom’s teacup against the saucer is the only sound between us until she speaks again, her voice soft.

"I know you're not happy, Simone."

Her words are like a sharp sword to my heart. Cold and honest. I swallow hard, trying to push down the rising lump in my throat.

"I don't know what to do," I admit, the words rushing out in a shaky whisper.

Mom’s gaze drifts out over the garden for a moment before she speaks again.

"Women in our family are very unfortunate when it comes to love," she says. "Look at me and your father for example, he was a good man, but love couldn't find us."

Her words rush a pinch of sadness through me. Dad was never the villain I sometimes painted him as in my teenage years. He was a flawed man, yes, but he tried to make things work, tried to build something meaningful and lovely with mom but they just couldn't work. God knows he tried his best.

Mom’s eyes return to me after observing my silence. Her gaze is unreadable.

"That friend of yours, the blonde," she says, her voice suddenly sharper.

My heart races, fear surging through me. I don’t want to talk about Abby, not now, not ever. I try to deflect, but Mom's won't let this go.

"What about her?"

"What's going on between you guys?"

I swallow.

"Nothing "

Mom sighs. "I'm still your mother, Simone," she says firmly. "You can’t lie to me."

I shake my head, my brain can't come up with anything to say. This is the same as being caught and how the hell do I defend myself?

"You need to shut it down. All this lavish life you’re living will be taken away once that secret comes out of the dark," she warns, her voice laced with certainty.

I've known for a while now that I need to end things with Abby. The text earlier would have been the perfect way out, but the moment I saw her in that black dress --- I lost all my senses and I didn't care that she kissed my husband's secretary. All I wanted to do was kiss her.

But Mom's observations make it clear: our tiny affair is becoming noticeable. We are not sleek about it anymore and the longer I wait, the more likely it is to blow up in my face.

I think I can remedy it while things are still within my control.

Sitting here on the balcony, the cool night air does little to calm the storm inside me. The wine does not warm me; instead, it is a harsh reminder of how much I’ve been using it to mask my fears.

I know what I must do: I have to end things with Abby. I need to protect the little stability I have left in my life, even if it means cutting off the only person that made me feel like me again.

It hurts to even think about it, but Mom’s words have made the decision inevitable.

I need to face Abby and break our little game before everything falls apart.

+++

Is it just me or mom is a bad influence on Simone? Lol