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"Thanks," you say, not failing to note the total terror in her eyes and the fact that she doesn't look away from you. You look at the eggs. "You're gonna burn them."
Her eyes dart to the pan. "O-oh." She takes a half step away from you and continues cooking, stirring, flipping, and folding. "Pepper?" She asks.
"Sure." You move away from her and sit at the kitchen table as you watch her cook. You wonder why she sticks around here. Maybe she's just too scared to leave. Sure as shit she doesn't want to be here. You have absolutely no positive memories of your mother. The best thing you can say about her is that she never hurt you. She also never helped you or even acknowledged what Dad was doing to you and Candi. She kept herself sedated on cheap weed, kitschy bible shit, and "family values" TV.
"So, Kyle. Um…" Her hands shake as she scrapes some eggs onto a plate. "Did you sleep okay?"
"Yep."
She glances at you. "I know … uh…C-Candi has been saying how she wished you were around."
"Yeah?"
"Y-yep!"
Her pathetic attempt at a cheery "Domestic" voice is grating. Phony. Your mom doesn't give a shit. This is her version of the survival mechanisms you and Candi developed. While you got strong and Candi got good at hiding herself, Mom has always been a sycophant. A people pleaser. You could tell her to eat shit and die right now and she wouldn't bat an eye.
"She's a busy gal!" Mom says as she keeps cooking for a minute. "So …h-how long are you staying?" She tries to sound casual. She tries so hard to sound casual that it's incredibly forced.
"Not sure," you say, watching as she puts the plate in front of you along with two slices of buttered toast. "For a while."
"Oh."
