Breed Me On The Bike

SHAMELESS

CORA~

Vivian does not look sorry when the words leaves her lils. She looks like she has been holding that sentence for years.

“She was not smart enough,” she repeats, louder this time. “That is all. She married a man with a shop and a kid and she thought love was going to organize it. She left you in this house with no plan and no spine, and now look at you. Same face. Same habit of trusting the wrong man. She died because she was not smart enough to see what was in front of her. You are walking the same lane in better shoes.”

Something inside me snaps so cleanly that I do not even remember deciding to move.

The chair scrapes behind me. My body is already across the kitchen. Vivian’s eyes go wide for one second, like she did not think I would actually touch her, and then my hands are on her shoulders and I shove hard.

She hits the floor hard.

Wine spills across the tile in a dark run. The glass does not break. It rolls and stops against the stove. Vivian lands on her side and catches herself with one palm. The robe splits up her thigh, and she stares at me from the floor like I have slapped the script right out of her mouth.

“You maniac!” I yell.

She does not get up yet. She laughs, breathless and ugly. “There she is.”

“Do not talk about my mother like that. Do not mock her because she's dead”

“I lived with her too.”

“You left,” I say. My voice shakes, but I do not care. “You left Dad with Avery and came back when my mom was gone. You have no right to joke with my mom's death. You do not get to decide why she died. You do not get to stand in her kitchen and call her stupid.”

Vivian pushes up on one elbow. “This is my kitchen.”

“Then keep my mother’s name out of it.”

She looks at the wine on the floor, then at me. Her cheek is red where it caught the tile. For a second, I think she is going to scream for Dad and call him on phone.

But she does not.

She smiles instead, smaller and meaner.

“You pushed me.”

“Yes.”

“I am your stepmother.”

“Then act like one for five minutes and stop talking.”

Vivian sits up all the way. The robe slips but she does not fix it.

“You think shoving me changes tonight?”

“No.”

“You think those men care that you have feelings about your dead mother?”

“I think you should stop talking before I do it again.”

She laughs and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Listen to you. One afternoon and you already sound like them.”

“I sound like a person who is done with your nonsense.”

“You sound like a girl who is about to find out what all that untouched was worth.” She looks me up and down from the floor. “They wanted you clean, Cora. That was the point. Your father promised it. Miles guarded it while you sat on it like a good prize. And you still think you are going to write a check and come home.”

“I am going to write a check.”

“You are going to get used, stop deceiving yourself.”

I stand over her and keep my voice steady because if it breaks, she will enjoy it.

“If I get used, Vivian, I will still be more honest than you. You screwed my fiancé in my bed and then came home to boil pasta. Do not lecture me about whores.”

Her face tightens.

Good.

“Avery cried for an hour after you left,” she says.

“Avery can cry in my robe. I am out of sympathy.”

“She is a child.”

“Don't be shameless Vivian. Do you even hear yourself? She is twenty-two, she's older than me.”

Vivian gets to her feet, slower than she wants to. She holds the counter and looks at the wine on the tile like it offended her more than the shove.

“You are going to regret putting your hands on me,” she says.

“Add it to the list.”

“When they are done with you, do not come back here expecting a room.”

I pick up my keys. “I was not expecting a room. I was expecting a father. I already got that answer at the shop.”

She watches me walk toward the doorway.

“Cora.”

I stop but I do not turn all the way.

Vivian’s voice goes light again. “Wear something they can take off easily. Save yourself the tearing. Your mother was sentimental about clothes too. It did not help her.”

I turn then.

She thinks I am going to shove her again. I can see it in the way her shoulders tense.

I do not.

I smile at her instead, and I make it sweet on purpose.

“If I come back,” I say, “it will not be for you. And if I do not come back, I hope you choke on the wedding chicken.”

Her mouth opens.

I leave before she finds the next line.

The porch light is already on. It is still too early. The card is still in the cup holder when I get in the car. My hands are shaking so hard I have to sit on them for a count of three before I can hold the wheel.

I look at the house.

The kitchen window is lit. Vivian is standing in it now, wine gone, robe fixed, watching me like she won.

She did not win.

She is still on her feet and I am still the one with tonight written on a black card, but she did not win.

I start the car.

I do not cry in the driveway. I already gave this family one tear today.

I pull out and say it out loud to the empty passenger seat because I need to hear a voice that is on my side.

“You are going to pay them no matter what it takes Cora.”