[narrative] calling mom
Angela sat on the floor of the Cohen's guest room to call her mother.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Mom."
"Hey Angie! What's up?"
"Have you heard from Dad today?"
There's silence from the other end of the line. "No. Should I have?"
Angela snorted bitterly. "He's probably still passed out. Probably doesn't know I'm gone."
"Angela...what's happened?"
"Dad started drinking. He hit me. I'm done, mom. I'm done with all of it. I'm staying with a friend and I'm not going back."
"Angie...are you sure?"
Angela gave a very hard laugh. "He drinks your brand of vodka, Mom. I had to bail him out of jail last night."
"Oh, god, baby. I'm so sorry." There's silence at the other end of the line. "Come live with me...I'll take care of you."
Angela laughed again, but it dissolved into a sob. "Take care of me? Please. I'm not gonna die on my own. And I've been on my own for too long to go back to being someone's child. I'm done, Mom. You talk to Dad, you tell him that--I'm done. Maybe he'll just call you a 'stupid bitch' for a change. I'm sick of being taken advantage of. I'm sick of this. I'm sick of taking care of everyone besides me. See how good Dad does when he has to keep track of paying his own damn bills and doing the shopping and doing the cooking." Her voice rises, strangled by the lump in her throat.
"Angie. Oh baby...please. Let me come there and get you."
"No." She's had enough. She sniffles and rubs her eyes. "You can never trust an addict." She hangs up and bows her head, beginning to cry quietly.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Mom."
"Hey Angie! What's up?"
"Have you heard from Dad today?"
There's silence from the other end of the line. "No. Should I have?"
Angela snorted bitterly. "He's probably still passed out. Probably doesn't know I'm gone."
"Angela...what's happened?"
"Dad started drinking. He hit me. I'm done, mom. I'm done with all of it. I'm staying with a friend and I'm not going back."
"Angie...are you sure?"
Angela gave a very hard laugh. "He drinks your brand of vodka, Mom. I had to bail him out of jail last night."
"Oh, god, baby. I'm so sorry." There's silence at the other end of the line. "Come live with me...I'll take care of you."
Angela laughed again, but it dissolved into a sob. "Take care of me? Please. I'm not gonna die on my own. And I've been on my own for too long to go back to being someone's child. I'm done, Mom. You talk to Dad, you tell him that--I'm done. Maybe he'll just call you a 'stupid bitch' for a change. I'm sick of being taken advantage of. I'm sick of this. I'm sick of taking care of everyone besides me. See how good Dad does when he has to keep track of paying his own damn bills and doing the shopping and doing the cooking." Her voice rises, strangled by the lump in her throat.
"Angie. Oh baby...please. Let me come there and get you."
"No." She's had enough. She sniffles and rubs her eyes. "You can never trust an addict." She hangs up and bows her head, beginning to cry quietly.