Mercedes
I ALWAYS KNEW MY mother wasn’t a responsible person. The fact that I had attended no less than four schools in the last two years put proof to that particular pudding. Cassidy James was highly unconventional, and as reckless as a teenager jacked up on booze on prom night. She was thirty-three years old and I swear had never mentally passed the age of nineteen.
From a young age, I knew my mother wasn’t like the other kids’ moms. Having me when she was just a child herself, sixteen to be exact, had impacted her, and I think stunted her emotional growth rate. How I had managed to survive to the age of seventeen was a miracle in itself and a tribute to my sheer survival skills. I had pretty much brought myself – and her – up.
For years, we moved from town to town, city to city, and state to state; my mother chasing her latest dream, which usually came with a penis hanging between its legs.
Yeah, my mom loved men, and men loved my mom.
But as reckless and immature as she was, I never in my wildest dreams could have predicted my mother’s latest fuck up.
She was pregnant.
Yep.
She’d gone and gotten herself knocked up.
Again.
Without being married.
Again.
I wasn’t opposed to having children out of wedlock. I was, however, opposed to having children without a stable home or regular income.
My mother had neither.
Even I had heard about the sperm donor, Gabriel Owens, serial womanizer. The guy was richer than most and slicker, too. I’d only met him a handful of times and I knew enough from those encounters that they were a perfect match. He was vain and my mom was a babe.
Unsurprisingly, Gabe had kids, too.
One of each.
A son my age, Rourke, and a daughter, Amelia, a couple of years younger.
Both by different women.
At least he was consistent…
Mom was deliriously happy of course. She’d finally snagged her dream man. One with a big, fat wallet. And as if getting pregnant at her age wasn’t irresponsible enough, Mom had only gone and made herself Mrs. Owens the fifth.
I mean, I could understand remarrying once, hell even twice, but five times?
Call me cynical, but that shit didn’t float with me.
I wasn’t unfamiliar with stepfathers; I’d had plenty of them myself. But none of those had ever put a ring on mom’s finger, or a baby in her stomach.
I shook my head as I thought about my mother, and seriously considered the probability of being switched at birth.
If it weren’t for our uncanny resemblance, I would have sought legal representation.
Sigh. My grey eyes, almost an exact replica of my mother’s, and my olive skin tone, not to mention the C-section scar she liked to hold over my head every year during bathing suit season, were proof enough to douse that tiny flicker of hope out.
One gigantic distinction between us was the fact that Mom was a natural blonde with platinum curls while I was born with the jet-black, poker straight hair I had since grown to the middle of my back. I was also a realist and my mother was a romantic. She loved living in the moment and I thrived on routine. She was a spur of the moment kind of gal, and I was a plan it to the letter type person.
As much as I wished it to be otherwise, instability was the norm for me, and moving house came as easy to me as packing up my seasonal closet.
It was the way I had been raised.
“Did you call Mr. Randle?” I asked her for what I knew was the fourth time. I had to keep on Mom’s ass about important things. Otherwise, we’d have been living on the streets a long time ago.
“Gabe has taken care of all of that for us,” Mom gushed as she thrummed her slender hands against her protruding stomach.
“I don’t think this is a good idea.” I felt like I was a parrot; I’d been repeating the same thing over and over for weeks now. “I have friends in Kansas, Mom. And a job.” And a life. Huffing, I rested an arm on the car door and used the other to steer. “I really think you should reconsider this relocation business.”
“Mercedes, please,” my mother said in a whiney tone of voice. “Do we have to go over this again?”
“Uh, yeah,” I shot back. What was supposed to be my last six weeks of freedom before starting senior year had been ruined by the upheaval of my mother carting me halfway across the country with her so she could shack up with her ‘baby daddy’, and I used the term lightly. “You’re hauling me out of school right before my senior year starts and dragging me across the country with you. We most definitely have to go over this again.” And again, and again until you start to see sense, woman!
“It’s better to move now,” Mom shot back. “You’ll have time to settle in before starting at the Academy.”
“The Academy.” I scrunched my nose up at the thought. Who was she trying to convince? “I wonder if The Academy is as pretentious as it sounds?”
“Mercy.”
“Mom.”
“Gabe assured me that it’s a wonderful school.” She smiled excitedly. “And very exclusive.”
“How fabulous!” I rolled my eyes, unable to stop myself. “News flash, Mom. I don’t fit the private school bill.” Not even close. “I’ve been public schooled my entire life.” Where I belonged. Where it was familiar. “How am I supposed to get along with these people?” Snobs. I meant snobs. I wasn’t a superficial rich kid who rolled around in daddy’s money for two very important reasons. The first; we didn’t have any money. Second; I didn’t have a father. “This is going to suck.”
“Come on, Merc, where’s your spontaneity?” Mom asked, smiling. “Gabe’s a good man with a nice home and a successful business. This is a new adventure for us.”
“No,” I corrected. “This is mooching, Mom.” I shook my head and forced back the urge I had inside of me to rattle my pregnant mother. “Didn’t you learn anything from the Carolina incident?”
Mom cringed and I felt like a tool.
“Fine,” I huffed, throwing my hand up in the air. “I won’t mention the Carolina incident again.” It was hard to stay mad at a woman who reminded you of a child.
“You’re going to love Ocean Bay, Mercy,” Mom gushed. “Think of all that sun.”
“And all the alligators,” I chimed in.
“And shirtless boys.”
“And poisonous snakes,” I rolled out, not missing a beat.
“A whole six weeks of sunbathing and lazing around before school starts?” She smiled hopefully. “Come on. That has to sound more appealing than getting up at the crack of dawn to bus tables at Nancy Joe’s, and spending your nights washing dishes in The Pelican Hotel back home.”
Did she know me at all? “I like to work, Mom,” I shot back. “I like having my own money. You know, being independent?”
“Ugh. You’re impossible to please.”
“Not really.”
“At least you’ll have your car,” she offered with a scrunch of her perfectly positioned nose. “Can’t you be happy about that?”
“Damn straight I’ll have my car.” I tightened my hold on the steering wheel. I had thrown a fit when Gabe tried to insist on us flying.
There was no way in hell I was leaving my car behind. I cherished my 1963 Mercury Comet convertible. She was my baby and the one thing on earth I loved above everything else.
It had been left to me by my mother’s father in his will. It was the only gift I remembered getting from him and I inherited it on my sixteenth birthday. It was an off-white color with a red interior and she drove like a dream, too. Really solid and sweet on the road…
“I need you to try and make this work,” Mom said then, breaking through my daydream. “Mercy, you’ll be eighteen in a few months. This time next year, you’ll be heading off to college somewhere, and where will that leave me?”
“You’re not supposed to ask me that,” I muttered. “It’s not my job to take care of you, Mom.” So stop making me feel so bad for wanting a better life than this.
“I love Gabe.”
I snorted. “You’ve known him for a grand total of four months.” I remembered it like it was yesterday; Mom bringing that fancy suited man into our one bed apartment last May. I’d been trying to study for finals. Of course, my plans had gone to shit the minute they slipped into Mom’s bedroom. I got my first ever C because of their unbearably loud sex noises. Inconsiderate assholes.
“Don’t you think two people can fall in love in that time span?”
“I think you can fall in lust,” I argued. “Love though?” I shook my head. “I hate to break it to you, Mom, but it doesn’t exist.”
“Always so cynical.”
“Real,” I corrected. “I’m sorry if I don’t buy into the whole hearts and flowers bullshit we’re all spoon-fed from birth, but I know damn well that if a knight in white armor’s gonna ride in and change my life then that knight will be me.”
“Mercedes,” Mom sighed.
“You put too much faith in the male species, mother,” I argued further. “You’ve got a brain in your head. Use it. Empower yourself.”
“I like who I am,” Mom countered. “I like being attended to.”
Attended to?
Was she for freaking real?
“Ugh. Whatever, fine. Go chase after that true love bullshit you’ve been telling yourself is real all your life. Maybe you’ll find it at the end of a rainbow with a pot of gold and fix all of our problems.”
“I told you. Money’s not an issue anymore.”
“For you, mom,” I glared. “It’s not an issue for you.”
“Gabe has offered to pay your education in whatever college you want to attend.”
“How generous.” My tone was laced with sarcasm. “Come on, Mom. You know better than that. A rich man doesn’t give something for nothing.”
“Gabe does.”
“We’ll see,” I muttered.
How anyone had let this woman-child be responsible for a baby was beyond me, but she’d managed to keep me alive this long, I figured what was another nine months?
My future was almost secured. I had one more year of high school, and if my Step-Daddy wanted to foot the bill for my college education, then I sure as hell wasn’t going to say no.
They could consider it a severance pay, because once I got finished with high school, I would not be coming back to Florida.
That was for sure.
Rourke
“HEY MOMMA,” I muttered as I hunched down beside the marble headstone that marked the final resting place of my mother. I didn’t come here as much as I used to. It hurt too fucking much. When I was younger, I would ride my bike out here most days, but now? Now, I came when shit was hitting the fan at home. “It’s that time of the year again.”
The cemetery was quiet and I was glad. I needed to vent and I wasn’t in the mood to wait around. It sucked major ass that the only person I felt I could truly confide in consisted of bones and ash and was six feet beneath me, but that’s how life went sometimes. “I hate him so much, Momma. I’m fucking burning inside. I feel like busting every wall in that house just to stop myself from busting his face.”
Brushing aside some leaves and mulch, I exhaled a heavy sigh and sank down on the grass beside her. “He’s at home waiting on Cassidy to arrive.” I picked at several shoots of green grass as I spoke. “This one’s got a kid, too – Mercedes.” Feeling the anger rise inside of my body, I forced myself to breathe deep and slow before continuing. “Doesn’t matter. They won’t ever mean a damn thing to me.” That, I was absolutely sure of. “She’s just another number to me, Momma.” I scrunched my nose up in disgust. “Her kid, too.”
The sound of footsteps approaching caused me to clamp my mouth shut. Stiffening, I turned my head to one side and watched as a girl I had grown up with wandered down the path towards me. I instantly recognized her, and with that recognition came a huge swell of pity.
“Rourke,” she acknowledged quietly.
I nodded. “Molly.”
“Haven’t seen you here in a while.”
“Haven’t been here in a while,” I replied honestly.
“It’s always hard when you’ve been away for a while.” Molly stopped four plots down from where I was sitting, eyes locked on the two headstones laying side by side. “The guilt is the worst.” I watched as she knelt down on the grass and clasped her hands together. “Hey, Momma. Hey, Bobby.” Molly turned to face me and smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ve been taking care of her grave” She gestured towards my mother’s plot. “I pick out weeds anytime they sprout up and lay some fresh flowers down every time I bring some.”
“Thank you.” My voice was thick and gruff. Molly was the one person in this town who, when my own life went to shit, I could look at and think at least I don’t have it as bad as she does. That was her mother and little brother down there. I’d lost my mother, but I still had Amelia. Molly was alone.
“I heard about your Daddy getting remarried again,” she added with a small frown. “I’m not sure whether I should congratulate you or offer you my condolences.”
“The latter, Molly.” I smirked and climbed to my feet. “Always the latter.”
“See you at school, I guess,” she called out when I turned to leave.
“Yeah.” I sighed. “I’ll see you.”