“I don’t want to come back.”

“But you have to. Where will you go? You can’t just sleep on people’s couches.”

“Actually, Mom, I can.”

“That’s irresponsible. I don’t know how I raised you this way, but I know I didn’t. You never learn… I don’t get it. I really don’t get it.”

Baby Girl wanted to hang up so badly. But she didn’t, because she was afraid her mother was right—that she was just a fuck up and will always be a fuck up. She could hear her mother’s voice in her head telling her she wasted her life getting a useless art degree, that her art would amount to nothing, that she would never make it, that she dates losers, that there’s something wrong with her. She feels too much and too little—discards the people who care most and love the people who treat her like shit.

“I’ll figure it out. I just know I can’t stay with K anymore. It’s not healthy.”

“I told you that months ago. But you didn’t listen to me… You do this all the time, though. You bounce from one guy to the next, as if you’re playing house. As if the new guy is going to make everything okay. That’s not how life works. You live in a fairy tale.”

“I’m just trying to be happy.”

“People aren’t always happy. Happy isn’t sustainable. Things fade after the honeymoon stage.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re miserable with dad. You just never left when you should have.”

“Don’t say that, I love your father.”

“Sure. Maybe. But you guys are terrible for each other. Everyone knows that. “

Her mother started crying, saying barely audible phrases like “cruel” and “you don’t know how it was.” Baby Girl hung up. She just couldn’t deal with it anymore. How could she tell her mother that she wanted to kill herself, that she wanted good morning sex, that she was afraid of sex, that she didn’t understand her own body? Really, she just wanted someone to make all of her decisions for her, because she didn’t trust herself, never learned how to trust her gut.

Note: This piece is part of a larger collection.