It’s that time again. I’ve put off visiting my mom for far too long. Miraculously, she’s been in the same spot for the last six months. Never fucking happens. I glance down at my hand to make sure I’m in front of the same address I’ve written down. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a match. I kill the engine and brace myself for the familiar shitstorm that’s brewing. Old habits die hard. I slip my sunglasses into the collar of my shirt and knock on the door, eager to get this over with. A few seconds later, it opens up to reveal a shirtless, tattooed, middle-aged man with long greasy hair. Mom and her wannabe rockers.... “Can I help you?” he asks, sizing me up. “I’m looking for Holly. Is she here?” “And you are?” “None of your concern.” Over his shoulder, I recognize my mom’s favorite old scrapbook displayed proudly on the end table. It’s filled with all her favorite childhood memories—ones that are “pre me.” That’s all the confirmation I need. Rugged Fabio starts to shut the door when I notice the gold wedding band on his finger.
