“Kyle, how many times do I have to tell you? I’m not lifting the child support order. Pay what you owe, and then you can get a job that doesn’t involve sticky cash from one of your friends.”

Gemma’s ex-husband was attempting one of his semi-regular calls trying to convince her to release him from his parental obligations. He’d threatened, cajoled, pleaded, and begged her to let him off the hook. There was a tiny part of her that knew the second she told him he didn’t have to worry about the money, she’d never hear from him again.

He didn’t ask about Dash, even though she sent pictures. He always called about money, not his son.

But it wasn’t about sticking it to her ex-husband, it was about Dash. That money was for him, to make his life better. He deserved to have his father support him. Kyle was never going to give him the love and attention he needed; the least he could do was pay for new shoes.

“Gemma, why you gotta hate on me so much? Didn’t I treat you good? Nobody wanted you, not with that fat ass of yours,” Kyle whined.

Gemma knew she wasn’t petite by any stretch. She was short, curvy, and – true – had a little extra can. She didn’t have a fat ass; she had a plump ass.

She wasn’t unattractive. She was average; at least, she thought so. Her skin was clear, and she had long hair down to her waist.

Even when she couldn’t keep herself in a decent curling Iron, she would put curlers in her hair when it was wet. Having her hair done in long waves or at least a unique braid made her feel better about herself. No matter how old her clothes were or how cheap her makeup, her hair was what most people commented on first.

Her mother had cut it once when she got lice in elementary school. Instead of rushing out to the pharmacy for treatments like normal parents, her mom felt cutting out the problem was easier – and cheaper, too. Her mom had taken a pair of kitchen shears and hacked at her hair. It was ragged and awful. Gemma never forgot the shame and the teasing at the hands of her classmates. She swore she’d never cut her hair again. Now it skimmed her ass even with a curl in it. Slap a little mascara and some lip gloss on and she felt like a regular girl.

“No, you treated me like a slave. I carried your ass and kept you out of jail more times than I can count,” Gemma retorted.

“Oh, please – you make me sound like a criminal,” Kyle snorted.

She held back the scream she so wanted to let loose. “You ARE a criminal, moron. You are behind on your child support. You’ve barely paid a penny to your son!”

“My son? So you say…” Kyle hissed.

“Oh, don’t even fucking go there, you asshole. You know good and well he’s yours. You doubt it, then you can cough up the money for the DNA test. It will be a waste of time AND will show the courts that you aren’t paying what you owe.”

Kyle had tried this before. It was his favorite complaint when things weren’t going his way. Whenever he wanted to shirk his responsibility he’d claim Dash wasn’t his.

“Bitch.”

“Yes, but I’m the bitch who takes care of your son. I’m the one who feeds and clothes him. I make sure he’s healthy and happy,” Gemma said. She didn’t bother explaining about Dash’s accident. He’d just make a big deal out of it, saying it was the reason he didn’t pay his support.

“Just send me the money you owe, or at least something. We could use anything,” Gemma said. She wasn’t about to beg, but for Dash she’d encourage strongly.

“I told you I ain’t got any. I’m barely feeding myself, Gemmy,” Kyle moaned.

She hated when he called her Gemmy; it grated on her nerves. “I’m sure you are finding the money you need to get your drink on,” she snarked.

He didn’t answer her on that point; he knew better than to deny it.

“I’ve got to go, Kyle, I have to get to work. You know, my second job to keep a roof over your son’s head.”

“Whatever.”

Then Gemma heard nothing. It was just like him, to hang up on her. Whatever was right – she’d already wasted enough time on him today.

She worked at the gas station four nights a week, and at the diner Monday through Saturday. It gave her two nights each week to spend with Dash. Sunday was her day off; no work, no plans – she usually played with Dash after cleaning and trying to catch up on a little sleep.

Jamie didn’t charge her as much at night since Dash just went to her house to go to bed. It was normal for Dash to play with the baby, read stories and fall asleep on their couch. Not the ideal situation, but at least it was stable.

Sighing, she looked down at her faded jeans that were a little tight around the waist. Her diet hadn’t been so great lately. She ate a lot of leftovers at work, kitchen mistakes and the like. It wasn’t always the healthiest, but it filled her belly. Her shirt was an oversized t-shirt that she’d found at the thrift store. It had a band that she liked on the front; one she’d never be able to afford to see. But it was still on the cool scale in her mind.

She looked bland, her clothes not meant to draw attention. At the gas station, she got a lot of creepy dudes coming in at night; the last thing she wanted to do was encourage them. Gemma still did her hair, though – she wasn’t about to scrape it back in a ponytail and go without makeup. Nope, there were a few things that kept her feeling like a woman, and her hair and makeup did that for her.

“Time for work,” Gemma moaned into her hands. As a little girl, she believed in a fairy godmother who watched over her. One day she’d see that Gemma had had enough and would rescue her, making all her dreams come true. That fantasy had ended a long time ago; she knew better than to dream that big anymore.