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Birgitta

2. Even Atheists deserve to be Loved

Chewing on a slice of pizza, I sit down on our love seat. Mom is still sleeping, completely unaware of everything going on around her which includes me. I place the pizza box on the table and open the lid so that the steaming aroma can escape. I'm hoping that the appetizing smell will arouse her. She has to eat. I can't recall when I saw her eat last.

"Mom," I say with a soft voice. Mom hates to be woken up. "I ordered pizza. Are you hungry?"

I continue eating my slice, chewing slowly as I watch for any movements. Sometimes it can take up to 10 minutes for her to even stir. Over the years, I have learned to have patience and show consideration. Dealing with my mother is like dealing with a child. Myself, I haven't been allowed to act like a child for a very long time.

"Mom, you have to eat. Please, will you eat something? Mom!"

"What?" My mother squeals startled and her head lifts a few inches off the pillow before collapsing back down again.

In her voice, there is irritation over being woken up. Usually, I would resign and let her go back to sleep. To not anger her further, I would go to my room and shut the door. Not today. There is unease over what I said to the Reverent and his family. We live here now and I need to be respectful. My father has instilled in me the importance of making a good first impression. What will he say when he hears? Proclaiming my non-belief so directly, basically throwing it in their faces, might have been out of line. It doesn't feel right and I need my mother to listen. I need my mother to be a mother.

"Mom, we had visitors while you were sleeping." Mom grunts as an affirmation that she is listening. "They invited us to their Sunday church service." Mom chuckles into her pillow making me crack a small crooked smile. "I might have been rude, mom."

"Not possible," mom croaks, her throat sounding dry and overused. "Not my little girl."

This is why I am able to see past all of my mother's lackings. When she is lovable, she is the best mommy ever.

"They invited me to their church and I replied that I don't believe in God."

Anxious, I wait for her judgment and I don't have to wait long.

Loud laughter rings out throughout the house and she sits up, though looking both unstable and groggy. "That's not being rude. That's telling the truth," she settles definite as an authority. I breathe out with relief and hand her a slice of pizza. "No, no pizza. Water."

Without waiting for a please, I rise and return with a glass of ice water. My mother takes it without saying thank you. How I've learned any amount of manners can be seen as a miracle, even though I don't believe that it was brought on by divine interventions. Children like me are just self-sufficient. We are used to, forced to, rely on our own wits, smarts, and guts.

"Your father home yet?"

I shake my head and grab another pizza triangle. "It's only 5 o'clock, mom. But hey, I was thinking…" I cheerfully say, hopeful and excited but still emotionally prepared for a letdown. I am always emotionally prepared for a letdown. "… I was thinking we could unpack your bedroom and bathroom together. I've already unpack my room, the other bathrooms, and the kitchen so I thought…"

"No now, sweetie."

A stab at my heart but I hold my voice steady as I try to convince her to abandon the couch. "Dad is not going to be happy if he comes home and his things are not unpacked. You know he expects…"

"Later," mom mumbles and yawns as she lays back down. Her one hand waves at me like I am an annoyance she wishes to be rid of. "Now, let mommy get some sleep. I am exhausted."

For a brief moment the sense of injustice overtakes me and I storm for the door. I stand there, for probably several minutes, panting and cursing my unfair life, before I recollect myself and once accepts that this is what I was dealt. Besides, it could be worse. It could always be worse.

Like a good girl, I make my way upstairs and into my parent's master bedroom. To save my mother and to appease my father, I grab the box closest to me and begin to unpack its content. By the time my father gets home at 11:30, every item has been neatly put away. Quietly under my covers a few doors down, I listen as my father uses the bathroom and then goes to bed. All is calm and yell free, and it's all thanks to me. I won't get a thanks for my hard work but that's ok. I'm used to it.

I turn to my side -I'm a side sleeper- and close my eyes. Sleep needs to take me. Tomorrow is my first day at my new school and I feel unusually anxious. It doesn't take any deep mind-exploring to realize the root to my anxiety. Despite my mother's words, I still have this gnawing feeling that proclaiming my atheistic standing was a huge mistake and somehow, I was going to pay dearly for my bold announcement. And in some way, the boy –River- was going to be the one to carry out my punishment.