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wanted to tell her about all my personal
troubles, my toxic romantic relationships,
anything. I also haven’t had the time,
especially since I started working three
separate tutoring jobs.

In fact, as I now write many drafts about
our relationship and vent to my counselor
weekly about my everlasting problems thanks
to her, I become less and less eager to call. I
harbor so much anger and hurt and
resentment about not having a “real” mom,
one to drive me to school and ground me
when I back talk and cheer me on at my school
productions.

I call her, one week later, regardless. I get
the answering machine. “Hello, Mommy,” I
say after the beep. “I was just calling to say hi,
sorry it’s late, I was busy this afternoon. I love

you and I miss you. Bye.

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