AllFreeNovel
Share Us
And as easy as it was to shuttle those emails to the trash bin and delete the texts, ignoring the thing that beat in my chest was the hardest thing I'd ever done.
My mother was still clutching the basket and her appalled expression, so I backpedaled. Second hardest thing I've ever done. Pretty sure the hardest thing I've ever done is not snapping when my own mother basically called me a floozy.
"You can drop the incredulity, Mom. There are no cameras here,” I sighed.
That earned me a sneer. "Are you suggesting that this is all an act?" She didn't wait for me to confirm it, dumping the basket and its contents on the couch beside me. Effectively washing her hands of me and throwing a Oscar worthy tantrum. When I didn't move a single inch or give her the reaction she was hunting for, she tried a different tactic. She squeezed her frame directly in front of me, sweeping a hand from torso to shoulder, like she was presenting herself to me for inspection.
"Did you take a good look at me, Nat?" She pointed to the floor. "Flats. I'm wearing flats!"
When I didn't even blink, she continued her tirade, gripping a fistful of black spandex and releasing it. The tight material made a snapping sound as it adhered itself back to her skin. "Yoga pants! And I'm not coming from or headed to the gym!” She paused and went off on a tangent, like a stage actress breaking the fourth wall. "And if I was headed to the gym, I would have picked a much sexier combo than a grungy t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants."
The defiant, have-to-get-the-last-word part of me (that I definitely got from my mother) almost rebutted the 'grungy' descriptor of her t-shirt. I had an array of grungy shirts, ticking off several points of the spectrum from 'wash me' to 'this may be hard to believe, but this shirt used to be white'.
I lost my train of thought when I realized she was wearing a Greene Hills Central High t-shirt. And not one of her own throwbacks so she could remind everyone that she was still rocking the same body she had in high school. It was one that proclaimed that she was a proud parent of a GHCH honor student. And from the cracked, acrylic letters that chopped the H and C in half and blurred the once glossy 'student', it was a shirt that had been washed many times.
Which meant it had been worn many times.
I nibbled on my bottom lip, my righteous anger dimming. My mother, who took pride in brands and looking like a celebrity even when she was running to the grocery store, had tugged on that shirt. If it were anyone else, it wouldn't have been noteworthy. It was just a shirt. But Juliet Madison planned her outfits like I planned my baking projects. Meticulously. With care.
"You look great, Mom."
From the slack jawed expression on her face, she was expecting a different follow up.
Get out now, Mom!
You are not welcome!
Can you just go?!
She recovered quickly, per usual, letting out a snort before she cleared off a space on the couch and gingerly eased herself onto the cushion. It was like a crop circle, but instead of rows of vegetation, she was surrounded by my stuff.
"Now you're just making fun." Before I could roll my eyes, she did the honors for me, collecting an armful of socks and empty Bartles and Jaymes bottles. Making space for me on the couch. It was her form of an olive branch.
A few minutes ago, I would have stubbornly planted my feet and grunted that I preferred to stand. I decided to bury the hatchet. I knew that when it was all said and done, my mother had my back.
It didn't make her parroting the headlines any easier to swallow.
I dropped beside her with a sigh, cutting my eyes in her direction. Trying to not be swayed by the t-shirt. By the fact that underneath it all, I knew she'd pick up cars, dash into burning buildings, and take a bullet for me.
"Do you really think that I'd go after a man that was taken?" I paused, sure she would interrupt me before I even got the entire sentence out. If I wasn't stone cold sober after I decided that drinking would only put off the inevitable, I would have sworn that she hadn't heard me at all.
She was dead silent, essentially giving me her answer.
I snapped to my feet and the mess my mother hadn’t gathered rushed to cover the butt sized empty space. "You're really hitting it out of the park tonight-"
"Natalee, it's not like that!" she insisted, rising to her feet too.
The only thing that kept me from just writing this whole impromptu visit off as one of the most deflating in recent memory was the panic in her gaze. My mother did a lot of things: annoyance, disgust, impatience, with some genuine joy making a rare appearance every now and then. Panic? Worry that I was about to storm out and she'd have to have this conversation with my bedroom door? That was rare. That was enough to get my attention. Force me to hear her out. And since I was taking a stroll down memory lane, where things like closed bedroom doors were the norm (hello, teenage years), I threw in some crossed arms for good measure.
"What is it like then, Mom?" I was trying really hard to come across as angry and indignant, a grown ass woman who shouldn't be trifled with, but the voice that came out of my mouth was broken. Hurt. The little girl who just wanted her mother to hold her because it seemed like the world was collapsing all around her.
Her panic had morphed into shock. She was just as surprised by the fact that I hadn't stomped off as I was. It took her a minute to adjust, raising her chin and tidying up her shirt.
My inner cynic scoffed 'It's showtime!'. My heart? Well, it picked a fine time to go utterly soft.
Stupid shirt.
When she perched her hand on her hip and gave me a look that I'd tossed Jason's way a time or two, I almost felt sorry for him.
