She huffed and then bit her lip. When her eyes settled on mine, she said, “I know. I guess realizing next year you’re going to be an adult has gotten to me. In one year from today, you won’t be my child anymore.”

A thought came to me that I should check her coffee, wondering if she’d added something extra to it. “Huh? I’m rather certain that no matter how old I am, I’ll still be your kid. It’s not like we reach a certain point and then no longer have parents.”

“That’s not what I mean.” But she never finished her thought. She never told me what she meant. Just dropped the conversation and went back to making the glaze for my meatloaf.

But I didn’t need to hear her tell me what she’d meant by it, because I already knew. It had nothing to do with not being her child anymore, and everything to do with her loss of control over me. She was a lawyer, and knew all too well that once I became a legal adult, I would be free to leave. She may have controlled my father and manipulated him, but she couldn’t do that with me. I didn’t need money to leave. I could apply to colleges, take out loans, and simply walk away. She had a marriage license and a bank account to keep my dad on a leash all those years…those didn’t pertain to me. That’s what she meant by losing her child in a year. She’d lose her control.

Without another word, I left the room. I grabbed a book from my room, the blanket from earlier, and went into the trees for some privacy. I needed space from everyone and everything. I wished I could’ve called Axel and talked to him about my dad’s phone call or my mom’s behavior, but I couldn’t. I had to learn how to deal with things all on my own again, much like I had before I met him. It made me laugh at the irony. I’d gone through life for almost seventeen years without anyone to lean on, and then I had him for less than a month. Somehow, in that short span of time, I’d become reliant on another person. Axel had become my habit, and I had to learn to break it, cold turkey.

I ended up spending hours outside, doing nothing but reading and keeping my mind occupied. I let myself get swept away in my book, forgetting reality and living within the pages of fiction. It was exactly what I needed, because by the time I finished, I found that I’d calmed down.

It was almost five in the evening before I pulled myself away from my forest and headed inside to start dinner. My mom was nowhere to be found when I walked through the back door, but I didn’t dare go search for her. She’d left the bowl of glaze in the fridge for me, and it made me think. It shouldn’t matter how selfish or twisted her reason was for the change in her attitude. All that mattered was that she had, in fact, changed her attitude toward me. I had a little over a year left in this house with her, and nothing would make that easier than to have her kindness—phony or not.

So as I made dinner, I found myself actually looking forward to sharing it with her. We’d gone from sitting around the table discussing my faults to not discussing anything at all. Awkward silence. And the thought of possibly having a normal conversation, a nice meal, and—if I were lucky—laughter made me excited.

After the timer on the oven sounded, I plated our meals and took them to the kitchen table, sitting in my seat to wait for her. I’d heard her bedroom door open and knew she’d be down soon. What I hadn’t expected was to find her coming downstairs dressed to go out.

“Where are you going?” I asked in shock.

“Some of the women from the office are meeting up for dinner.”

“But I thought we were eating meatloaf.”

She paused after pulling her coat on and stared at me. “Oh, no. I told you to make whatever you wanted because I wouldn’t be here. Just wrap it up and put it in the fridge. I’ll eat it tomorrow.”

I don’t know why I was surprised. Or why I felt pity for myself. But at that moment, it seemed as though I’d left my body and witnessed the exchange the way a stranger would. And as I watched myself, sitting alone at the kitchen table, two plates of food and an empty chair around me, my heart broke. It shattered for the young child within that had allowed herself to get her hopes up. The little girl that, against better judgment, looked forward to sharing her birthday dinner with her mother. I watched my shoulders slump, my head dip forward, and then the first drop of tears fell to my lap.

But I shouldn’t have felt bad for myself. I should’ve known better, expected it even. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to hope that things would change. Realizing that, I pushed away from the table and dried my eyes. I put the food away, not even bothering to eat any of it. My mom had left me to eat my own birthday dinner—one I had to make myself—alone. So, I would celebrate on my own as well.

I pulled out a cup from the cabinet and opened the door to the fridge, not even bothering to take the box of wine out before pulling on the tab and filling my glass. I didn’t put too much thought into my decision. But I knew it wasn’t for attention since no one was around, and it wasn’t even because I liked the taste of wine because I’d never had it before. I only wanted the pain to stop. I wanted the insecurities to go away and for the resentment to settle. I didn’t want to cry, I didn’t want to think about how everything had been flipped upside down, and I didn’t want to dwell. I simply wanted my mind to go blank.

So I took my large glass of wine that sent a shiver through me with every sip and sat on the couch. I watched whatever was on the television, not paying much attention to it, and drank. I poured myself a little more after enjoying the tingles it gave me, appreciating the way my head grew fuzzy instead of heavy. I loved how it put a smile on my face and caused me to find everything on TV amusing. It was like magic.

But before I finished my glass, I became hot. My skin burned and I couldn’t seem to cool down enough. I went to the front porch, hoping if I sat in the chair outside long enough, the chilly weather would tame the heat that radiated beneath my skin. Only, I didn’t get a chance to sit down. Something was in my seat.

The sky was dark and my porch light remained off, but with the streetlamps and the moon in the sky, I could see the wrapped present vividly. It was small and thin, and when I picked up the silver package, it was light in my hand. I hesitated before opening it, not sure who it was from, but curiosity got the best of me and it didn’t take long before I ripped off the paper.

I didn’t need a tag or a card to know who’d given it to me. The gift alone was enough of an indication. In my hand, I held a Guns N’ Roses CD. Their greatest hits. Axel had told me plenty of times that I should listen to them because he thought I’d like their songs, and I’d told him every time that I would. But I never did. And then after that afternoon in his yard, I decided I’d never listen to them.

Rage filled me and caused my hands to shake. No words had been spoken, not one glance had been shared, or even a single message received, yet he comes to my house and leaves me something so personal. The nerve of him. Between the blur of fury and the haze of the wine, I ran back inside, shoved my feet into a pair of shoes, and stormed out the back door. I didn’t waste my time grabbing a coat, or even contemplating the option of calling him. All I wanted to do was release this hatred I had inside…at Axel.

I’m not sure how I knew which house was his through the thicket of trees. I’d only ever been there once, and that had been during the daytime. Now, with the sun gone, the backs of the houses were dark, and they all seemed to look the same to me. But with his CD in my grasp, my feet carried me through the dead leaves, past the line of trees, and to his back yard as if they just knew where to go.

I could see lights on inside through the windows, but the blinds were closed, so I had no idea which rooms they were for. I reached down at the edge of the tree line and picked up whatever I could find, which happened to be large twigs and small, thin branches. I gathered as much as I could in my arms and proceeded toward his house. Without taking aim or caring what I hit, I started to throw whatever I had at his windows. The anger inside blazed hotter with every twig that left my hand, the enraged words that flew out of my mouth grew louder every time a small branch smacked against a pane of glass. I was lost in my rage by the time his sliding glass door opened and he stepped out into the night.