“She’s been doing that since you were little. She’s practically your second mom.”
Bev’s spoon hit the table.
“She’s not my mom.”
I blinked.
“Okay.”
“She’s practically your second mom.”
“You’re my mom.”
“I know that, baby.”
“No, Mom. I mean she’s not.”
I should’ve stopped right there and listened harder.
Instead, I glanced at the clock.
“We’ll talk tonight.”
“You’re my mom.”
We didn’t.
***
A week later, Bev followed me down the hallway as I clipped on my work badge.
“Can you come home before Aunt Stephanie gets here?”
I turned.
“Did she scare you?”
Bev hesitated.
Bev followed me down the hallway.
“Not me.”
I almost called in sick.
Instead, I went to work.
The truth finally came the following Thursday.
I was folding laundry on my bed when she walked in and closed the door.
I almost called in sick.
“Mom?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Can Aunt Stephanie not come tomorrow?”
I folded one of my shirts, then realized I’d already folded it.
“Bev, we’ve talked about this.”
“I’ll stay home alone.”
“Yeah, baby?”
“You’re ten. Absolutely not.”
Her eyes filled.
“I don’t like how she acts when you’re gone.”
I stopped folding.
“How does she act?”
“You’re ten. Absolutely not.”
