Chapter 1

The moment my mother entered the house, my entire body tensed. The entire scene played out in my head - she’d storm into the living-room, find me finishing a report for my boss (I do social media for a local theater) and find some reason to pick a fight.

Reality didn’t disappoint.

“Tiffany,” she said, clucking her tongue - a habit I hated, and not only because it meant a lecture was coming. “Did you drive my car this morning?”

“Yes, mother.”

“What on earth were you thinking? You know that you’re far too young to be driving without supervision.”

I raised one eyebrow.

“Seriously?”

“Of course, young lady. I don’t care what your friends are doing, but I don’t want you on the roads unless I’m sitting by your side.”

I stared at her for a few seconds - she must have seen it as some kind of challenge to her authority, because she leaned forward, unblinkingly staring back at me. In truth, I was just gobsmacked, and it took me a while to assemble the words for my reply.

“Mom,” I said, unable to believe I actually had to say it. “ ... I’m 23.”

“Well that’s as maybe, but you’re still my daughter.”

After dropping what she clearly thought to be the definitive last word, she sauntered out of the room, head held high. I turned back to my textbook, utterly bewildered by her behavior.

The next day was almost an exact repeat of the first. This time, Mom was furious that I’d brought wine into the house - no, sorry, into her house. Again, I pointed out that I’d been legally able to buy and drink wine for almost two years now (and refrained from mentioning that I’d been drinking it for over three years before that) but it had no effect.

Maybe I should have dropped it. I was moving out at the end of the year - I didn’t have a place yet, but my friend Britt and I had already started looking for a place.

And - as well as being obnoxious - Mom’s new attitude was starting to weird me out. I guess since Dad passed she’s been a little bit more protective than normal, but she’d started pushing it past the extreme. Acting horrified if I swear, yelling at me for staying out past “curfew” ... it was truly ridiculous.

But the next day, when she caught sight of my tattoo - the tattoo I’d gotten when I was 19, the tattoo that she’d seen a thousand times before - she freaked out, and I started to seriously wonder what was happening. It wasn’t normal, I knew that for sure.

After the lecture (a short, stern one, and a promise that the cost of getting it lasered off was coming from my allowance ... an allowance that had ended over half a decade ago) I went upstairs and did some thinking.

When my father passed, Mom didn’t handle it too well. For the first few months, she totally refused to get out of bed - when she’d finally felt up to facing life again, she started seeing a therapist.