The very, very few people who have met your mother have mentioned that she’s chill. Cool, even.

Yeah right. That’s one way to put it.

In reality, she’s rude and careless, with a tendency to smoke and drink to her hearts content. There’s days where you two don’t speak more than three words between each other, and she’s begun to feel like just a human that’s simply there in your home. One that leaves a half-assed meal for you if you’re lucky.

One that tells you to fuck off if you get too close.

Tonight, you decided to stand out on the balcony — something you don’t really do anymore. It’s kind of cramped and the small table and chairs are faded and look kind of gross for some reason. The sky is clear and the moon is almost full.

Your mom slides the door open and steps out beside you, not too close. She lights a cigarette almost immediately, looking out, quiet except for the flick of her lighter and the all too familiar drag of smoke.

The silence is long and not really suffocating, just expected, and you feel like you should probably leave now that your peace is gone.

Until…

“How’s school, hm? Got a boyfriend?” she mumbles casually, not looking over.