Matchstick Bridges

Warnings: implied child abuse, mentions of suicide (non explicit), explicit language

There was a blue Camry in the driveway.

It was in front of the garage, on Astrin's side, so Hazel parked in her usual spot easily, a frown creasing at her brow.

Her roommate hadn't said anything about having visitors over, and she was fairly certain that they weren't seeing anyone, so… who was here? She popped her phone out of its stand and turned off Do Not Disturb—no new messages.

That in itself was enough to raise her hackles as she got out and locked the car. Normally, Astrin was more than happy to blow up her phone with updates about everything and anything, from an annoying co-worker or pictures of the clouds. Radio silence was… concerning. Especially with a visitor.

Hazel squinted at the Camry as she walked by. There was a cute crochet frog hanging from the rear view, and the shift had a few scrunchies layered on it—nothing out of the ordinary. The license plate read California, though, and Hazel faltered. It could have been a coincidence, but she'd stopped trusting those after her second year of college.

She unlocked the front door as quietly as she could, trying to listen in for anything. The alarm system was broken—had been, for two years—so whoever was inside wouldn't be alerted by anything except the door. She toed off her shoes and turned to close the door, only to freeze as she read the note taped to it.

In Astrin's messy, pseudo-cursive: Naomi's here. followed me from work, couldn't get her to leave. will try to keep her in the dining room until you can get your shit together.

Hazel closed the door with a soft snick! and trembling fingers.

Naomi. Her mother.

So that was why Astrin hadn't said anything. In fact—she was willing to bet their phone was tucked into a pocket, silently recording since they had gotten out of their car. Just in case.

She sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly as she took the note down and crumpled it into her pocket.

Nothing to do but face the woman, then.

Astrin was sitting in the seat facing the doorway—usually Hazel's, given her habit of keeping entryways within view—while a woman with an ash-blonde braid sat across from them, her back to Hazel. Astrin's mouth was tight with displeasure, even as they lounged in their chair, posture utterly relaxed. Their eyes flicked up to meet Hazel's when she ducked under the low arch. They had a brief, silent exchange, before Hazel hooked her thumbs into her pockets and cleared her throat.

The woman turned sharply, and Hazel fought the urge to flinch as she came face-to-face with her mother for the first time in eight years.

Hazel had been told for years that she and her mother could be twins. She used to be delighted by it, and then she got older and her mother got crueler and she hated it, and when she finally left for college, she did everything she could to not look like her.

She faced her now, ash-blonde hair turned the color of rust, brushing her shoulders. There were more lines on her mother's face, and the whiskey-brown eyes they shared were narrowed with distaste.

"Hazel."

"Mom."

They stared at each other for a moment. Hazel crossed her arms.

"Y'know, I'm pretty sure that 'no contact' means… no contact."

Naomi's eyes tightened. "It's been eight years, Hazel. You're an adult—"

"Yeah, I am! About time you realized that. I'm more than capable of deciding who I want to keep in my life, and news flash: that's not you!"

"It's been years, you can't forgive and forget—?"

Hazel scoffed. "Absolutely not. You—I almost threw myself off a bridge 'cause of what you did to me. There is no world in which I move on from that and forget what brought me to that point. When I left, I said I wanted to go no contact, and I meant it. Why are you even—how did you even get here—how did you find us?"

Her mother looked away. "Grady and Lydia want you back home for the holidays. They haven't seen you since you left."

Hazel pursed her lips, determinedly not flinching at the mention of her sister. "If Lydia wanted to talk to me again, she could've reached out herself. Dad can go fuck himself." She didn't say, If Lydia wanted to talk to me again, she could've chosen me. She didn't choose me, and she'll never choose me. She didn't say, If Dad wanted to see me again, he should've said something when you hurt me, instead of just watching.

Naomi swelled with anger. "You can't just let it go for Christmas? And don't talk about your father that way. God, you're still so selfish—"

"Maybe I am!" Hazel shouted. "But I think I damn well deserve to be! I still haven't gotten an actual fucking apology from you, in eight years. But you probably still think you're perfectly innocent, that it's all my fault for wanting to get away because I'm still a 'selfish leech' and an 'ungrateful waste of space'—yeah, remember telling me that? I was twelve the first time you called me a leech."

Naomi flinched, not meeting her eyes. Hazel clenched her hands into fists.

"What, not gonna tell me that you never said that?" she asked scathingly. "Not gonna tell me I'm making things up, it's all in my head?"

A muscle feathered in her mother's jaw. "I only wanted you to be the best version of yourself. If that meant getting you off of your ass with harsher methods—"

Hazel laughed, sharp as broken glass. "You haven't changed. You haven't changed a single bit, I don't know why I'm surprised. You still think everything you did was for the best, even when it nearly killed me." She met Astrin's eyes. "Get out of my house. I never, ever want to see you again. You show up again, I'm calling the cops. Tell Lydia if she wants to talk, she can reach out first."

"Hazel—!"

"Please leave, Mrs. Rosenthal," Astrin said. Their voice was quiet, but firm. "I'll remind you that, not only did you show up uninvited, you also did so after following me home from work. Which you found out about through basically stalking your estranged daughter's friends."

Naomi flushed a deep red. "I just wanted—"

"I don't care," Hazel spat. "I want you out of my house. So leave, or I'll call the damn cops." She glared at her mother (their expressions were one and the same, now, and Hazel had never hated her face more), stepped out of the archway, and gestured mockingly towards the door. When the older woman didn't move, Astrin rose, picked up her purse from the table, and held it out, expressionless.

Her eyes darkened dangerously as she glanced between the two of them—and then she stood sharply, snatched her bag from Astrin's hand, and stormed out without another look.

Neither of them relaxed until they heard the crunch of wheels on the gravel driveway, the rumble of the engine dying away as Naomi left.

Then Hazel sank to the floor, shaking, her teeth clenching so hard her jaw ached. Astrin was at her side immediately, wrapping her in a tight hug.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get her to leave," they whispered. "She was—fucking stubborn about it, and I couldn't punch her. Wish I could've." Their voice was mournful, and it startled a laugh out of Hazel.

"Me too," she told them. "All the time." Slowly, she uncurled, nestling her chin in the crook of their neck and returning the hug. "Thanks for the door warning."

"Would've texted, but I figured recording would be better. I wrote the note while she was in the bathroom."

"Knew you were recording. You're the best." She tapped Astrin's back, and they let go immediately. She stood, still a bit shaky, but calmer. "Ugh. She's thrown my entire nervous system off. Do we still have hot chocolate left?"

"It is August, Hazel Rosenthal," Astrin said, looking appalled. "It is summertime, and you want hot chocolate? I live with a heathen."

Hazel snorted. "Fine! Tea. Chamomile."

"Better. Mind lighting some candles? I swear, your mother has perfume blindness. I want no trace of it in this house."

"Hah! Yeah." She got the matches out of one of the kitchen drawers, and one of the wood-wick candles.

She struck one match, lit the wick—considered the match, and its dancing flame.

May I never see my mother again, she thought, and blew it out.