September

“What the hell do you mean, Jack’s gone??”

Gab had arrived home from work that evening to find Jack’s room empty, his clothes and toys gone. Gina sat passively at the kitchen table. Vague. Empty.

“Brian wants full custody,” Gina shrugged. “He picked up Jack while you were at work. He’s going to keep him ‘til court.”

“And you didn’t think it was relevant to tell me about this earlier?!” Gab was livid. “Had you and Brian talked about this??”

Years of suppressed fury washed over her in waves.

“I am the one who looks after him! I cook his food, I wash his clothes, I take him to school,” she cried. “And suddenly you tell me that Brian wants full custody?!!” She was pacing like mad; she didn’t know which way to turn.

“I didn’t know it would actually happen,” whined Gina. “Brian’s all talk. He’s been saying this for years. I didn’t think he’d actually do anything about it.”

“Yeah?!” Gab cried, suddenly realising something new despite her disorientation. “Well, I’m GLAD Brian’s taken Jack. I’m GLAD!”

Gina made her ‘shock’ face with all the authenticity of a mime.

“You mean you don’t want to look after your baby brother anymore?” Gina asked. “Gabrielle, I’m surprised!”

“NO Mum, NO! That’s not it. How dare you!” Gab yelled. “Brian deserves Jack. Jack deserves a good home. At least Brian acts like a parent!” Gab stormed towards the front door.

“What is that supposed to mean?” yelled her mother in retort.

“You even have to ask?!! I cannot BELIEVE you are so oblivious!” Gab was blind with rage and disbelief.

“I have health issues!” her mother’s voice was finally rising too, and she stood up from the table. Gab was glad. It was better than that infernal equilibrium that was less like calm and more like infinite nothingness.

“You have care-factor issues!” Gab jabbed, turning before she walked out the door. “You don’t CARE—about Jack or me!”

Gina huffed and puffed; she glared at Gab. She did not respond. And then, she closed her eyes, held her hands together in prayer and glided towards the sunroom. Down, down, down; she was sinking back into her ocean of passivity. This was the last straw.

“Stuff you, Mum!” cried Gab, slamming the door as knives of guilt stabbed through her on a thousand different angles.