It hadn't started out as a bad day. She had gone to work, and though her day was never typical there, it had been fairly uneventful. She wasn't the type to be on her phone very much throughout the day because she had customers to attend to, and when she didn't there was inventory to count, vacuuming and dusting to do and things to sort and unpack. She rarely had idle time so it wasn't until she got home that evening that she saw the text from her mother. Immediately a feeling of dread settled into the pit of her stomach. It had been almost six months since she'd last spoken to her and she had been hoping that it would be another six months before she did. But she wasn't that lucky, she never was. She opened the text and read it to herself, lips moving slightly. She groaned and flopped onto the couch behind her after she finished reading and dropped her phone into her lap.

we're in boston. meet me at mcgreevy's. i need to see you.

What her mom meant by those words was, i need more money. With a sigh, Rosie typed back her reply can't tonight, maybe tomorrow. The woman had given birth to her, but she couldn't acknowledge her birthday. Chances were good that she'd forgotten it completely. Rosie wasn't usually a bitter person, but if her own mother couldn't even remember that it was her birthday, she wasn't sure how she could expect anyone else to. She rose from the couch, leaving her phone on the coffee table and briefly considered changing her phone number and moving. The only problem was that she couldn't move her shop and her mother knew where she worked. It wasn't worth changing anything when her mother would just figure it all out again at some point. She honestly wouldn't be surprised if she got mad about being put off a day and showed up at her house, drunk, banging on the door and embarrassing herself in front of the neighbors. She pulled vodka out of the freezer and poured it in a cup with some orange juice from the refrigerator.

She had been too upset with her mother's text that she hadn't looked at any of the others on her phone, so she picked it back up and scanned through them. There were a couple from friends and she smiled to herself, grateful for the friendships she had. They meant a lot to her and she was sure that her life would be much harder without them around. But she couldn't ignore the glaring name of her mother in the list of messages. It irked her that the woman still seemed to have so much power over her. She was going to have a lot to talk about in her next therapy session, she was sure. With a sigh, she saluted herself and muttered, "Happy fucking birthday to me."