I sag in relief.
“I chose the wrong man for the job.”
There’s a rushing sound in my ears, but I can still hear voices around us whispering. Joe’s voice is in my head, reminding me to be strong. To stand up for myself. But Joe isn’t here, and the only thing I want to do is run. So I do.
Well, sort of. I speed-mince away, because this get-up isn’t made for running. Miles and my mother are busy arguing at top volume, so I make a break for it before they can stop me. I press through the crowdand out the front door, keeping my eyes down. If I can’t see them, they can’t see me. Meanwhile, my nails are digging into my palms. My heart is pounding. I know people are watching me. I skirt around the step-and-repeat and cross the lawn, my heels leaving a trail of pockmarks in the grass. I’m not sure where I’m going, just away. Then I see it.
I spot the roof of The Hulk in the distance. I can’t even appreciate the irony of this moment because I’m too busy texting.
INDIGO: Can I b9rrow your van for a while longet?
Speed-mincing is not conducive to coherent texting. I don’t expect Bonnie to text me back right away since she’s working, so I’m surprised and relieved when my phone buzzes in my hand.
BONNIE: Sure thing, kiddo. Everything okay?
I can’t answer that. Nothing is okay. I finally reach the van and try the door, praying that Ashley left the keys inside. The ignition is empty. I grope around under the driver’s seat and realize I wasn’t as thorough cleaning out Bonnie’s van as I thought I was. I left a lot of junk down here, but luckily I find the keys among the pile. I send up a prayer of gratitude. I’m still elbow-deep under the driver’s seat when I hear the last thing I want to hear.
“Gumdrop!”
I whip my head around and see Miles stumbling toward me like a zombie in a horror movie, and there’s a crowd watching him. A few people have their phones out, pointed at the scene. He’s making a spectacle and dragging me into it. Again.
Hearing him use that nickname, knowing what I know now, floods me with rage and triggers something inside me. I don’t have to do any of this anymore. The weight of this life lifts off of myshoulders. I feel free, but for real this time. My rage morphs into confidence with a healthy dose of I-don’t-give-a-crap.
“Are you serious? Leave me alone, Miles! We are over! My mother will send you your last paycheck, or whatever it is that you worked out.” I shout across the lawn, because I don’t care who hears anymore. Suddenly I want everyone to hear the voice of Indigo Fox chewing out her scummy ex-boyfriend. "The fact that you're still trying to make this happen is mind-boggling! I'm not the stupid gumdrop you think I am. I'm not yours, or my mother's. Find someone else to leech off of!"
He yells back, but he's slurring so much now I barely understand him. I catch a few curse words and the last part: “You don’t get it! You run away whenever th-things get too hard for you!”
He’s right about one thing. I run away. Not anymore. And I know how to defeat this zombie. I paw around under the driver’s seat and grab what I need to defend myself. “Okay.” I fake a defeated sigh. “Let's talk, Miles.”
He smirks and stumbles toward me, presumably to eat my brains.
I wait for him to get closer. His sleazy eyes are on me. He slows down. He's enjoying making me wait now. Victory is written all over his sweaty face. It takes all of my self control to wait for him to catch up to me. He’s still too far away.
Closer…
Closer…
He’s near enough that I can smell the alcohol, even with the breeze. He holds out his arms like I’m going to run over to him and apologize, and we can go back inside and I’ll be the inanimate Gumdrop on his arm again.Bzzzzt. Wrong answer.
I launch two bags of colored powder in the direction of Miles’ face—and this time I calculate for wind. A glorious cloud of fluorescent pink powder surrounds him, and when it starts to settle Idon’t hide my 100-watt smile. This couldn’t have gone better. He’s wearing a heavy coat of pink, from his immaculately coiffed hair down to his old school Ferragamo loafers. He coughs and sputters, groaning and spitting the powder out of his mouth.
I ceremoniously dump the remnants of the bags over his head. “I hope you and my mother have a beautiful life together.” Then, I turn to the crowd and announce in my loudest stage voice, “I hope you enjoyed tonight’s show! Sadly, this will be my final performance! Thank you all for watching, and have a wonderful night! Drive safe!”
I finish with a deep, melodramatic bow before I climb into the van and drive away.
Chapter 18
INDIGO: We need to talk. Can we meet at 11?
MOM: Good idea, but let’s do 10. Meet me here and we’ll make a plan.
INDIGO: Actually, I’d like to show you something. Can you meet me in this spot? Wear good shoes.
I attach a GPS link and push send, wondering if the heart palpitations I get when I contradict my mother will ever end. I’m not consciously afraid of her—anger is the dominant emotion—but after so many years of compliance standing up to her will take practice.
MOM: Fine, but we have a lot of cleaning up to do after last night, so whatever it is better be fast.
I shake my head as I read her text. She has no idea what’s coming today. There is cleaning up to do, but not in the way she thinks.
