Dinner and the She-Devil

Max

“Hm, hmm, hmmm. Look at you. A drunken mess.” A grating voice breaks through my consciousness. I open my eyes and see my mother standing over me as she looks down disapprovingly.

I shift to my right about sitting up, but it makes my brain feel as if it’s slammed against my skull. I settle back down on the bed. Okay, new plan, no moving. I drank too much last night.

“Still living a life of debauchery, I see,” Mom says.

I look up at the ceiling, wondering who let the devil in on this fine Sunday.

“I don’t know, Mom. Are you still spending my money?”

She frowns, and she looks down at me.

“Do you have a problem with me spending your money? So you want your mother to suffer? I carried you nine months after—”

“After my deadbeat father left you to chase other women. I’ve heard the tale many times. I make sure you are comfortable because you sacrificed a lot.”

She mumbles something I don’t catch. I sit up in the bed, head throbbing, and stare at her.

“Aren’t you happy? You don’t have to w