I have read the book "Little fires everywhere" by Celeste Ng and watched the series and i found it has some parallels with Shelby and Rachel story. It made me think, what if Shelby decided to kidnap Rachel after signing the surrogacy contract while still pregnant.
Chapter 1
« To a parent, your child wasn't just a person: your child was a place, a kind of Narnia, a vast eternal place where the present you were living and the past you remembered and the future you longed for all existed at once. »
Little Fires Everywhere
Celeste Ng
At some point we got tired of singing along to the Broadway playlist and mom put radio on. I mostly half-napped through the resume of all the horrible things taking place in the world but then there was this feel-good story they always put on the news for good measure:
« A mother and a daughter team have rowed thousands of miles across the Atlantic Ocean in an epic 105-day journey »
« Wow », she says turning to me with her wide smile, « Three months on a little boat in the middle of the ocean with no one but your old mom to talk to. How does that sound, Rach? »
I laugh trying to imagine what that could be like.
« Honestly, Mom, if i had to do it, there's no one other than you I could have done it with. If you knew how to navigate a boat that is. »
We have been driving for days and we have slept in a crappy motel last night and her face carries clear signs of tiredness but at that moment when she turns to me it radiates so much joy.
« Really? » she asks in a husky voice as if she couldn't quite believe it.
« Of course, » I say smiling because i can feel how genuinely happy I have just made her with my offhand comment. « Who else would be up to belting Broadway tunes with me all day long in the middle of nowhere and who wouldn't get sick of discussing my future career ad nauseam with no distractions whatsoever and who else knows how to cook me my favourite vegan meals... besides, that is the same as our life now anyway just not in the middle of the ocean. »
« It's true, » she says, still flashing her widest grin, « That is our life now, baby. »
As long as I could remember it was that way: my mom and I, always my mom and I, only my mom and I, moving from town to town every couple of years, never staying anywhere long enough to settle, to plant our roots, no boyfriends for her and not because of the lack of suitors, almost no friends for me, probably not just because of the lack of time to bond. She took teaching jobs and gave vocal lessons and we didn't really struggle financially but everything was always temporary, apartments or small houses for rent, our car stuffed with mostly our clothes, a nomadic lifestyle, no other constants than the two of us. No father, no grandparents, no family friends. I used to ask Mom about my father but she always turned everything into some kind of a joke.
« I stopped near a cabbage field on my way to Broadway and there you were: so tiny and so adorable I changed my plans and decided to be your mom ». « A very tired stork just happened to drop you right into my hands » I stopped asking when I grew older. Whenever anything came up regarding her life before me: her childhood, her parents, her friends, I could sense her stiffening for just a millisecond before putting on a custom-made plastic smile with a set of both vague and laconic answers. After a while even just as a small child I started to understand that there was no point in trying to unearth a trustworthy piece of information or a genuine feeling under the surface of those carefully crafted stories. We traveled so much but we never came close to the one place I really wanted to visit: New York. When I asked mom why, she would say: « When you turn 18 and if you still want to sing and do Broadway, then you will go there but not until then ». I knew mom lived there before having me but she didn't want us to even so much as go anywhere near New York. I decided it was maybe just too painful for her to see her dream of becoming a Broadway star crush. Maybe for her going back to New York was like poking an open wound that never healed.
This time mom got a job offer as a glee coach for a highly competitive club in a small town in Ohio. They offered good money and I could start high school there and this time we would stay, she promised. « You will make friends, enlist in a glee club, we will be able to afford dance classes now, baby ». We were both feeling hopeful.
A week later we were still getting settled in Lima. We met our neighbours, an all-American family with a daughter my age, a blond cheerleader who went to the same high school I was going to start. I could see that behind her angelic facade she was one of those popular girls who tortured the whole school, I have known a lot of those over the years at all the schools I went to. We kept distance, we were not going to be friends.
But today on my way back home from my 5 a.m. jogging I stumble upon her, all disheveled with mascara running down her face and visibly drunk.
« Hush », she hisses at me, putting her finger on her lips, her eyes unfocused, barely able to stand. I look at her staggering away to her house, not sure what to make of it. She doesn't go to the front door though, she walks to the side of the house and I have a bad feeling about this. Reluctantly I follow her and sure enough she is trying to climb up a trellis.
« Quinn », I call her, « What are you doing? Stop ! »
« Hush », she hisses back, « I do it all the time. I climb the trellis up and sneak back into my bedroom. That way... », - and she puts her legs back on the treillis, « my parents don't catch me sneaking out to a party ». Her legs slide down the trellis in another fruitless attempt to climb it.
« You can't climb this trellis. You are too drunk »
« I totally can. Watch me », she jumps up and almost immediately bends forward and throws up. What a mess. She will end up waking up her parents.
« Come on over », I tell her, helping her walk. « You can clean up at my house »
I open the door with my keys and take her to the bathroom. She is all pale and doesn't look good.
« Wash up »
« I don't feel well », she whines.
« Yeah, I can see that. Just wash up a little and then I will give you something that will make you feel better »
When she is done I decide to take her to the basement. I take her hand helping her on the stairs.
« That way we won't wake up my mom ». Which is very unlikely. Mom is not really a morning person, especially on a weekend.
« Just don't touch anything », I warn her, « It's my mom's study but there are comfy floor chairs down here and there is something here that might help you ».
On my mom's desk there is a small pipe and a tiny bag of weed. I stuff the pipe and light it.
« Have you tried this before? »
« Wow », she narrows her eyes at me and it seems like she already sobered up a bit. « Who would have known! You look like such a goody two shoes and you keep weed in your basement »
« It's my mom's »
« Even better »
I laugh.
« It might help with nausea. Do you want it? »
« You bet »
She takes a drag on the pipe.
« Holy shit », she laughs, « I can't believe it. Your mom doesn't look like a junky »
« She isn't a junky », I roll my eyes.
« She doesn't drink or take drugs. She smokes weed sometimes because it helps her relax and focus when she is working on her music »
« Whatever you say »
I restrain myself from giving her a lecture on classification of marijuana versus alcohol on the WHO drugs register deriving into a marijuana decriminalisation speech. Some people are just unlucky. Being born into a Republican family in the conservative Midwest was not her choice, I tell myself.
« Feeling better? »
« Yeah »
« So was it a great party? »
She shrugs.
« Nothing extraordinary »
« So do you and your mom smoke together in here? »
I laugh.
« She is cool but not THAT cool »
« Where did you live before coming here? »
« We travel around. We were in a lot of places »
« Must be nice », she takes another drag. « I have always lived in Lima. My parents were born here. And my grandparents »
« Must be nice », I parrot her.
She looks at me.
« What do you mean? »
« To have a family around. For me it's just me and my mom »
« Where is your dad? »
« I don't know »
« Do you know who he is ? », she isn't particularly tactful.
« Not really »
« Wow », she says again. « Aren't you curious? Did you ask your mom? »
« I did. She doesn't really answer »
« There must be some mystery there », she says wistfully, attempting to take another drag on the pipe but I stop her.
« That's enough. You will get stoned »
« Why else did you bring me here then? »
« Some weed helps after getting drunk but not too much »
« You sound like an expert »
« Maybe I am », I smirk.
« Actually I think we could become friends, Corcoran », she says smiling.
School starts tomorrow and, after the whole day of getting ready, we sit on the porch, my mom and I. I put my head on her shoulder, trying to fight against all the back-to-school anxiety overwhelming me.
« Rach », she says suddenly, her voice soft as ever « Did you smoke my weed? »
Oh god. I stiffen. Leave it to my mom to wait for probably several days and bring this up when I am not expecting any of it.
« No »
She looks at me and lifts my head so that I now have to look right in her eyes.
« Are you going to start to lie to me, hmmm? »
« No », I say, willing myself not to look away, « I didn't smoke it but I gave it to someone else, you know the neighbour girl...she... »
« You did what? », she is definitely surprised, « Rach, I don't think that her parents would approve»
« She wasn't feeling well, Mom »
« I see », she doesn't sound mad. She doesn't ask anything else.
I lay my head back on her shoulder.
« Are you mad? », I ask just in case
« No, I am not, Rach »
« She was drunk and she tried to climb the trellis outside her bedroom to get into into the window and then she vomited...I know weed helps with nausea and it did help her ».
She doesn't say anything.
« Mom », I ask tentatively
« Yes, my love? »
« If I get drunk or sneak out to a party are you going to be mad at me? »
She is silent for a moment
« I think it comes with the age, Rach. At your age it's normal to try things like that but it is also important to stay safe in the process, so that there is no permanent damage »
My mom is one of the kind, I am thinking.
« But you don't really have to sneak out. If you want to go to a party, just tell me. If you are drunk, just call me and I will come pick you up »
Isn't my mom the coolest?