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I’d brushed off her last few attempts to talk, completely ignoring her. She had told me she was severely ill almost a month ago, but in one of the last messages she’d sent she claimed to of been better. To get this call was surreal.
I stepped into the heated cubicle with a heavy sigh. The water came down in comforting steamy rivulets. Pressing my forehead to the slick tiled wall, I replayed the conversation I’d had with Alaric.
He’d said he hadn’t been able to reach me. I remembered seeing an unknown number a few times, just yesterday, in fact. I never answered and they didn’t bother leaving me a voicemail. Who didn’t leave a message when it came to something this seemingly important?
Of course, I wasn’t going to ask this man that directly.
He had just lost his wife. I’m sure his mind was on a million other things besides having to track down his mysterious sister-in-law.
It was probably for the best, anyhow. I wouldn’t have been welcome at the burial and to be honest, I wouldn’t have wanted to go. That was terrible to admit, but true, nonetheless. I’d have been a distraction for those who didn’t know I existed and a bitter blast from the past for the ones that were reminded I did.
I finished my shower, then dried off quickly. After running a pick through my thick mass of hair, I retrieved my robe from the back of the bathroom door. With no plans to leave my humble abode, this was a satisfactory look for the foreseeable future. I returned to my bedroom and grabbed my cell from the nightstand.
There were three missed call notifications, each followed up with a lengthy text, all within a thirty-minute window. Unsurprisingly, every one of them was from my mother—it was always my mother.
I didn’t want to speak to her right now but based on her most recent message if I didn’t return her calls within a half-hour she was coming over. That would be ten times worse than dealing with her on the phone. I dialed her back as I walked from my room to the kitchen.
“Catalina,” she answered before the second ring could finish, trying to force admonishment into her breathless tone.
“I was in the shower.”
“Well, I didn’t know that. You know I like to be—.”
“Aware of my every move?” I interjected, reaching for the box of Frosted Flakes on top of my fridge.
“Did you take your medicine last night?”
I rolled my eyes and placed the cereal on my tiny island, along with the phone.
“You don’t have to ask me that everyday mom.”
“Yes, I do. It’s my job as your mother to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”
In the background, I could hear the culprit for her breathless state—the treadmill she bought last month and now abused every morning.
I grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and the milk from the fridge, double-checking the expiration date before pouring it.
“You know I’m twenty-four years old, right?”
“A mother’s job is never done,” she snipped. “What are your plans for the day? We should do lunch.”
Plucking a spoon from the dish-drainer, I sat down on one of my barstools, aiming a frown at the phone. She knew I didn’t do social outings. I was every bit of a hermit, preferring to be as anti-social as possible. I kept myself tucked away inside my house. It wasn’t huge or luxurious, but it was cozy, peaceful, and all mine.
I scooped a bit of flakes up and shoveled them into my mouth, debating on how to broach the news about Meg.
“Mom, I need to tell you something.”
“You finally found someone to make me a grandmother?”
I took another bite and shook my head at her backward logic.
She didn’t trust me to take my medication as prescribed, but she wanted me to find myself a man to make babies with. Deciding Alaric had been right, that there wasn’t an easy way to announce a death, I came right out with it.
“Mom, Megan is dead. Her funeral was almost a week ago…I guess she lied about getting better.”
“How did you find this out?”
“Her husband called me a few hours ago.”
The whirring of the treadmill came to a stop. “Oh, I’m sorry, kitten.”
“Please stop calling me that,” I grumbled, slightly surprised she didn’t demand full details on how Meg died.
What wasn’t surprising was how unauthentic her ‘sorry’ had sounded. Mom was nothing but blunt—often coming across rude and crass.
Her not asking simply meant she didn’t care to know. Given the peculiarity of our situation, I didn’t think anything less of her for it.
“And you said there’s already been a service?”
“Yeah. Her husband couldn’t get in touch with me before then, but you know I wouldn’t have gone anyways because…” My father hates me.
“You’re allergic to all things mundane,” she filled in dryly.
