Mothers

Ellie looked at the empty vodka bottle that was on the kitchen table. She could smell it, that sharp vodka smell. She'd heard that some top shelf vodkas didn't have that smell, but her mother didn't go for top shelf. Her mother was laying on the table, one arm stretched out toward the bottle, like a drowning woman reaching for a life raft. Ellie bit her lip and looked at her mother's light brown hair spread on the table like a fan, and she could hear her heavy passed out drunk breathing.

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Craig walked to the grave in the daylight, the dried and colorless leaves crunching beneath his feet. The sky was lead gray, like metal, like water on a dim day. He wore his leather jacket and a hoodie beneath it, the hood laying against the back of the jacket, dark blue against black. His hands were cold and he shoved them into his pockets. His parents weren't buried together or even in the same cemetery. He thought they would have liked it that way. He walked past all the newer graves, each new one making him sadder. It pushed his mother further and further away. He saw the stone in the distance and conjured up his mother's face in his mind. He whispered, "mom,"

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Emma narrowed her eyes at her mother's sleeveless shirt and tight pants. She kind of looked like a teenager except for the lines in her face. It was mean to think that. Emma watched her mother talk to someone on the phone, the phone cradled between her face and her shoulder so she could use her hands to wash the dishes. It was probably Snake. She was sure it was Snake.

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Ashley looked at her mother's cream white silk dress and her pearls, saw the loose skin of her neck and the lines around her mouth. Saw her go from table to table, putting bouquets of flowers on each one. The tent covered it all. Her father was marrying a man and look at her mother, helping him. They were still friends, good friends. Ashley closed her eyes and wondered how they could have mistaken that friendship for love and got married, had her. Her whole existence was owed to deep denial on both sides, her parents thinking they could make something work that was doomed from the start. If she thought about it in just the right way it took her breath away.

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Jimmy observed his parents' early morning ritual of drinking coffee and reading the paper, both in power suits. His mother was someone who could be described as a handsome woman. She was calm and reserved, holding out high expectations for him. Jimmy ran his hand over his hair and then felt the cold edge of the wheelchair wheels. He watched his mother take little sips of her steaming coffee.

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Peter always liked Saturdays at his mom's house. She bustled around in soft gray sweatpants and t-shirts, her glossy blond hair up in a ponytail that swung around when she moved. She made him pancakes and scrambled eggs, she smiled at him with her disarming smile. She made him feel warm in the glow of her attention.

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Manny knew who the dominant one in her family was. Her dad. She cringed as her mother ducked her head and deferred to his wishes. She closed her eyes and prayed that she would never be like that in her life. She wanted to be an equal partner with whoever it was she would love forever. She listened to the clipped accents of both of her parents before they slipped into their native tongue, knowing it was more difficult for her to follow along.