The Man

Then how the hell do you explain this? How, Robert? Fifty dollars on Friday, another forty-five on Saturday. What were you even downloading?”

“Games and wallpapers,” Robert mumbled under his nose, eyes on his socks, hands fidgeting.

“Hundred dollars for wallpapers, Robert!”

“Mom, I’m sorry, I thought the phone was connected to Dad's WiFi.” His hands were clenched now.

“For the whole weekend, you didn’t bother to check?”

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

“Weren't they supposed to send some kind of message that you’re running on data?” She was still rummaging through the invoices. She didn’t even know the half of it.

It had been building inside of her for months. She was supposed to be thirty-two, but women at thirty-two don’t have that many grey hairs and such tired eyes. They don’t cry every night when they think their child is asleep. It was because of him.

“What’s that?” She finally reached the one he was most terrified about. “Robert, this is a joke, right? Robert?” His eyes were wet and he was trembling, but in the rage and financial ruin she faced, it didn’t matter. “Robert, please tell me that this asshole put you up to this.” She never swore in front of him, which made him want to sink into himself. “Robert, please tell me your dad printed this and told you to give it to me? Honey?” Her face had a million wrinkles. “This is a joke, right? Please, Robert, honey, tell me the truth.” She was crying now and grabbed her son by his arms, invoices still in between her fingers.

Women at thirty-two don’t work two shifts and have no social life because every single minute is spent homeschooling her child after classes because of how behind he is. They don’t clean the dishes by night, floors by the morning, and he knew it was his fault.

“Mom, I will pay you back, I promise, I am so very sorry, I didn’t know, I am sorry, Mom, please.” She’d let go of him and turned around, shrieking. “Mom, I am very sorry, I will pay you back, I will pay you back, Mom, I didn’t know.” Robert was sobbing now, and there were boogers coming from his nose that he couldn’t wipe because his hands were too focused wrestling each other. He wanted to pee so bad, but he had promised his mom not to do that anymore, because he was the man now and he was the man of this house.

Except, he wasn’t. He didn’t keep his promise when he told her that they’d do okay without Dad.

“Pass him the phone, you bitch!” She was on a call now, holding the hand with the invoices at her ear, the second on her throat. The first one was trembling, the second was squeezing. “You piece of shit!” She looked at Robert, who was still standing in the same place, tense, not making the slightest of moves, before walking off to the bedroom.

Women at thirty-two don’t limp because their ex-husbands threw them down the stairs. Her skin was peeling off because of the chemicals she used to mop the floors in the morning. Her skin was peeling off because the gloves hurt her skin when she was scrubbing down pots and pans.

Screams, profanities, and a “thirteen hundred dollars” could be heard from the next room, but Robert still couldn’t move. “You’ll cover it, you understand! Do you hear-” there was a brief silence and she started to laugh. “It’s my monthly! It’s my monthly, you asshole!” Silence again, sounds of something breaking, shriek. “You owe me for five months now, do you understand? Do you understand that? Or did the booze—” the person she was speaking with interrupted her, “I wish you were dead. I regret that I allowed him to visit you. I was so stupid. God, I was so stupid.”

Robert didn’t have the concept of what women at thirty-two should or shouldn’t do or look like. But he knew something was wrong, and he thought it was his fault. It was all his fault, because he had asked his mother to leave. And they did, and all that was happening now was his fault. He had promised her that he would be her man and take care of her. But he wasn’t doing his job right, because the thirty-two-year-old woman that he was supposed to take care for was suffering.

“You know that I barely manage, right? You piece of shit, you know that you owe me for the past five months, you know that, don’t you? You go around, shooting, snorting, drinking, and here we are! He needs new shoes, you get that? And you’re off drinking with a new whore every day!”

It was his fault.

She fell silent for a moment, and every atom in the universe, and in their little apartment especially, changed its trajectory and started rotating in the right direction again. She sensed Robert in the next room, and she was ashamed of herself. The rage was gone.

“I despise you, do you understand? You’re disgusting. He was right. We’ll do fine without you. We’re doing fine without you. We don’t need you. We never did.”

Robert’s hands were now burning red, but he wasn’t giving up. He stood still, eyes on the socks, boogers on his mouth when she got out. She seemed less tense now, but Robert didn’t move an inch nor dare to speak. She looked at him and started to cry.

“Oh, Robert. Oh, my boy.” His hands were bleeding now, but she didn’t see that. All she saw was a small puddle at Robert's little feet. “I am so very sorry.”

“Mom, I am sorry. I promise I will pay you back,” he said to her shoulder, which was squishing his face now.

“Don’t worry about it. It was a mistake. Those things happen.” Robert finally loosened the grip on his hands but still didn’t let go.

“Mom?”

“Yes, honey?” She was still holding him.

“Am I still the man of the house?”

She hugged him even tighter and told him that now and forever, and he let his hands go.