Chapter 107: Chapter 107 - Confrontation
She tightened her arms around the flowers and walked faster.
The stadium noise followed her past the gate. Cars pulled out of the lot behind her. Parents called for kids to hurry up. Seniors laughed too loudly, still wrapped in flowers and family pictures and the shine of being celebrated.
Roxie left all of it behind.
She could have asked Cynthia for a ride.
She could have let Jason talk the whole way and pretend his loud little voice was enough to fill the parts of the night that stayed empty.
But sitting in the Robinsons’ warm car with flowers on her lap would have made her cry.
So she walked.
The first block was cold.
The second block made her feet hurt.
By the third, the anger started building properly.
Claire had missed it.
The sentence came back with every step.
Claire had missed the announcement. Claire had missed the picture. Claire had missed Jason screaming from the bleachers and Cynthia clapping and Mr. Robinson telling Roxie to keep her chin up.
Claire had known.
That was the part Roxie could not get past.
Claire had known the time. Claire had known the day. Claire had known Roxie wrote her name down.
And still, Roxie had stood by the entrance checking the gate like a stupid little girl waiting to be picked.
Her grip tightened around the flower stems.
The plastic wrapping crinkled against her jacket.
People always said anger burned hot, but Roxie’s felt colder the closer she got to home. It spread into her hands, her jaw, her chest. By the time she turned onto her street, her face had gone still.
The porch light was off.
The living room light was on.
A thin strip of yellow showed through the curtain.
Roxie stopped at the edge of the yard.
Claire was home.
Claire had been home.
The anger settled deep.
Roxie crossed the yard, climbed the porch steps, and reached for the door.
Before she opened it, she heard a cough inside.
Then the flick of a lighter.
Her hand tightened on the doorknob.
She pushed the door open.
The smell hit first.
Smoke. Stale perfume. Something sharper underneath, bitter and dirty enough to make her stomach turn.
Claire sat at the kitchen table in an old tank top, one leg tucked under her, hair loose around her face. The ashtray was full. A lighter sat near her hand. There were things on the table Roxie looked at once and then looked away from because she already knew enough.
Claire lifted her eyes.
Roxie stood in the doorway with the flowers in her arms.
Claire’s gaze dropped to them. "You got flowers."
Roxie laughed once.
Flat.
"Yeah," she said. "Someone showed up."
Claire’s mouth tightened.
Roxie closed the door behind her.
The flowers crinkled against her jacket. Her fingers were wrapped so tightly around the stems that the plastic had started cutting into her palm.
Claire looked back at the table. "I had something important."
Roxie stared at her.
The ashtray was full. The lighter sat by Claire’s elbow. Smoke curled toward the ceiling in a thin, ugly line. There was a glass pipe near the edge of the table, half hidden under a napkin, like Claire had tossed it there and decided that counted as hiding.
Roxie’s anger moved through her chest.
Slow.
Heavy.
"What?" she asked.
Claire rubbed her forehead. "Roxie."
"No. Tell me." Roxie stepped into the kitchen. "What was important?"
Claire’s eyes sharpened. "Watch your tone."
Roxie laughed. "My tone?"
"I’m serious."
"So am I." Roxie lifted the flowers slightly. "I stood at the gate waiting for you. Everyone had parents. Everyone had someone fixing their jacket or taking pictures or crying over them. I wrote your name on the form."
Claire looked away.
That made Roxie’s jaw tighten.
"I wrote your name," Roxie said again. "I told you the time. I reminded you. You were supposed to be there."
"I know."
"You know?"
Claire’s voice flattened. "Yes, Roxie. I know."
Roxie stared at her mother’s face. There was no panic there. No shame strong enough to reach her eyes. Claire looked irritated, like Roxie had come home complaining about a missed ride instead of the one night she had asked her mother to stand beside her in public.
Roxie put the flowers on the counter.
Carefully.
"What was so important?" she asked.
Claire’s mouth moved but nothing came out.
Roxie looked at the table again. "That?"
Claire stood, chair scraping back. "You have no idea what I’m dealing with."
"I know what you were doing."
"You think you know everything because you put on a little uniform and people clapped for you?"
Roxie’s head snapped back.
The words went through her fast.
Then her face went still.
"Say that again."
Claire looked at her, breathing hard. "You heard me."
Roxie stepped closer. "I had Senior Night."
"And I had things to handle."
"What, getting high?"
Claire’s hand hit the table. "Enough."
"No." Roxie’s voice rose. "You missed the one night I asked you to come to. One night. You could have sat there for ten minutes, smiled for a picture, and left. That was all I needed from you."
Claire’s eyes flashed. "I’m tired of you acting like I owe you every piece of myself."
Roxie froze.
The kitchen went silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator.
Then Roxie smiled, but it felt wrong on her face.
"You owe me every piece of yourself?" she repeated. "You can’t even give me an hour."
Claire looked away first.
Roxie’s voice cracked, then sharpened. "What, I’m not important?"
Claire’s mouth tightened.
"I’m your fucking daughter."
"Don’t talk to me like that."
"Then act like my mother."
"I am your mother."
"No." Roxie pointed at the table, then at the flowers, then at herself. "You’re the name I keep writing down because forms ask for one."
Claire’s face changed.
Roxie saw it.
For a second, she wanted that hurt to stay.
Claire’s eyes went cold. "You always know how to make yourself the victim."
Roxie stared at her. "You missed Senior Night."
"And someone filled in, didn’t they?"
The words hit harder than Roxie expected.
She blinked.
Claire’s mouth twisted. "Daniel, right? Cynthia with the nice house and the clean kitchen? Their cute little boy screaming your name?"
Roxie’s hands curled at her sides. "Leave them out of this."
"You brought them into it."
"They showed up."
"So now I’m supposed to feel bad because you found better people to clap for you?"
Roxie’s throat closed.
Claire laughed once, bitter. "You think I don’t see it? You come home acting like this place disgusts you. You work at that restaurant. You babysit for that family. You put on borrowed dresses and pretend you’re one of them."
Roxie went still.
"You missed my Senior Night," Roxie said. Her voice came out quieter. "And somehow you still found a way to make it about you."
Claire stared at her.
Then she said, "I found a buyer for the house."
