The Humdrum Life of a Hero

Chapter 12

"Mom?" It comes out shaky as she rounds the corner into the kitchen just as she had so many times in the past. Before she would've had a twin or two either on her hip or following closely behind her while she gripped as many grocery bags as she could, but now, she resembles nothing of the sort.

Her and I always shared the same blonde, loosely-curled hair. Mine always looked better than hers because I had ample time in the morning. Oddly enough, the tables have turned. Her blonde hair appears to be freshly blown-out, accented with highlights, and not to mention about six inches longer, falling just on her chest. The overall product has definitely been professionally styled this morning because I can smell the expensive, only-in-a-hair-salon hair products.

As far as smells go, the acetone smell of nail polish remover emanating from her emerald green manicured finger nails is probably causing some brain damage. And her perfume isn't helping either. She smells of the perfume section at Macy's, an over-powering mixture of Chanel and Ralph Lauren. She must've hit the make-up bar while she was there as well. She hardly had time to do her hair so make-up wasn't on her radar either, but yet another twist in a never ending set of them. Thin lines of gray eyeliner, black masacara, and light blue eyeshadow adron her piercing blue eyes. Her lips are a light shade of pink, and not to mention fuller and plumper than the last time I saw her.

Her clothes retain the trend of high-end. A royal blue, fitted, knee-length, cap-sleeved dress hugs her thin figure. The neckline curves that it shows the beginning of her cleavage, which is kind of age-inappropriate for a thirty-eight year-old mother of four, although I should say former mother of four. The four inch, black pumps on her feet irk me to no end. And the next thing my eyes land on is the purse.

Prior to abadnoning her kin, she carried around whatever bag she found while perusing the clearance. She didn't care about the label on the bag; she just cared that it held two sets of crayons and coloring books. So seeing her with a Gucci leather purse makes me question who the woman in front of me is anymore.

I don't realize how hard I'm gripping the counter top until I look down at my white knuckles. I release my death grip on the hunk of stone, but I don't unclench my jaw because I know I'll regret whatever I'd say if I do unclench it.

She pushes back a strand of her hair and adresses me directly for the first time in a year. "Sarah, darling, how are you?" The way she said my name as if it were a foreign word makes me wonder when was the last time she uttered it. If I had to guess, it would've been the night before she disappeared, when she told me goodnight.

I stare her down while the anger bubbling in my system threatens to boil over. How are you? runs on loop through my head. Such a loaded question, I think to myself. "I'm doing wonderfully, Jennifer."

Even after she left, I still referred to her as my mom or mother, not once have I ever used her first name, but now, standing in front her, I find that it's finally fitting because she's not my mother anymore, she hasn't been for a year. She's a stranger to me now.

"Well, that's good." Her smile is forced. She turns her attention from my indignant face to Jay who looks about as uncomfortable as one could be. "And who is this handsome young man?"

"He's a friend," I say more nastily than I intended.

"No need to be so rude. I was just asking a question." She sets her bag down on the dining table where the cake is sitting, waiting for the candles to be blown out and to be eaten, but as long as she's here, that's not going to happen. "And what is your name?"

"Why do you care-"

I'm cut off by Jay who says, "Hi, I'm Jay."

"Nice to meet you," she says. "Now, Jay, if you wouldn't mind, could I ask you to move to another room so my daughter and I could talk?"