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Show All the Variables & Other Love Stories 100 Most of their conversations were really arguments, though her mother refused to call them that. She was obsessed with Angie getting married to someone, anyone; to whom seemed to matter less as Cleo grew and stubbornly refused to remain inconsequential. Her mother was convinced Angie couldn't take care of herself. She harped on the squalor Angie inhabited, the welfare she accepted with no job and no prospects, and wondered what kind of life was Angie fit to provide for herself and her daughter? Angie was forced to acknowledge not much of a life was possible. "You can't think about yourself anymore," her mother said. She was furious because her visit was almost over and Angie refused to have the only discussion that interested her. "If you think it's decent for Cleo to grow up in this filth-well, all I can say is you ought to be ashamed. I raised you better." Late May in the mountains, Angie thought, was the most glorious of all nature's miracles. Her apartment was not far from the canyon mouth, and sitting in the grass she had a great view of the mountains. It seemed she hadn't spent time outside in ages because the apartment was on a state highway and the traffic sounds terrified Cleo. Angie had no car and the hassle of packing Cleo on the bus exhausted her so that by the time Angie got anywhere, all she wanted was to go home. She felt like a cave-dweller in the stuffy basement apartment, and though she kept the blinds open to let in sunlight, the mountains weren't visible from the window. "Angie," her mother asked, "Are you listening, or are you staring out the window?" |