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“Ish? What the hell do you mean by ish?” Her tone is heated, I can see her perfectly in my mind, she’s probably sitting on the couch reading self-help magazines.
“It’s new, and I wanted to wait until I knew what it was.”
“You must know what it is, Shayla Lynn Donovan. Because that stupid video of him, you know, the one of him singing and dancing like a complete asshat? You called him babe in the caption. So obviously, you know what it is!”
I hate when she uses my full name, as if it’s going to make her some sort of real mother. It’s like she uses it as a tool to make it sound like she’s active in my life and holds some motherly bond with me. I’m now sitting next to Kings on the bed. He muted the TV so I know he can hear her attacking me.
“Mom! Don’t call him names like that! It’s uncalled for; he’s a great guy. What has he ever done to make you think you can say those nasty things?” She has some nerve calling me on my vacation, and getting hotheaded and trigger-happy over attacking my boyfriend. Ugh! She can be such a—a bitch! We haven’t spoken in weeks, and the time before that I can’t even freaking remember.
“I know the shit your deviant brother was up to. I also know Trey was a big influence on those poor choices. He’s a slut, and I bet you’ve already jumped into bed with him. Didn’t I raise you to be a classy young woman? I like to think I didn’t teach you how to be a little tramp.”
Tramp. Me? And she thinks she taught me different. She’s delusional! She’s lucky my vagina didn’t turn out to be a drive-in movie for every guy in high school, like hers was. She’s the perfect example of a sloe. That’s what Lana and I call a slutty hoe. But anyway, she’s the one who taught me everything but class.
“Wow, Mom, thank you for crushing my self esteem and supporting my relationship with Trey.” The phone is ripped from my hand, and I take a second to analyze what just happened.
“Mom, it’s your deviant son here. I think you should go back to blowing whatever guy you are mooching off of currently and let’s do this chat again in six months, when you bless us with a check-up call!” He hangs up and throws the phone on the floor. I hear the thudding noise the phone makes when it hits the carpet, and I stay silent. He gets back into his position and pulls me into his side.
“Fuck her. Let’s get back to Full House. DJ Tanner is a babe, and I’d rather watch that than talk about whatever that trick had to say. She’s wrong about what she said. Trey is a great guy, don’t let her weasel her way in.” I concede by way of silence. When Kings is done talking about something, he is just that, done. Another thing he and Lana have in common…I wonder if they ever really talk.
I don’t talk or think about my mother often, because of encounters like that one. Anytime she speaks to me, or graces me with her precious time, it’s just control, disrespect, and abuse. She’ll never be a mother figure to me, and I’ll never let her in my life as anything more than the egg donor. Erica thinks she has the right of passage to me, but she doesn’t. To be a mother means more than just donating your body for nine months. You have to water the plant to make it grow; all she did was drown it with poison.
The lack of relationship that I have with her causes a slight ache to form in my chest. I almost feel selfish, she may be a shitty mom but she’s still my mom. Trey didn’t even get to say good-bye to his mom…she just left. I can’t be selfish for wanting to be better than she was, right? I aspire to be a mother one day, one that can love wholeheartedly without reserve. Nothing will mean more to me than the happiness and well being of my future children. Children, that’s a wanted thought, but even more foreign at this point in my life. Maybe one day.
Attempting to concentrate on the screen to calm my racing heart, all I can think about is Trey. When my mom said those things about him, it just awoke this beast inside of me. This driving urge to protect him came rushing over me, blood pumping through my veins, causing the desire to go to him and show him that I love him regardless of what anyone thinks. Eventually, the thoughts in my head—running on a continuous loop—drain me and I let sleep take over, finding Trey in my dreams.
“KINGSTON. HE DIDN’T SHOW up. I’m so embarrassed,” I choke into the phone, my throat thick with emotion. I’m hiding in the cramped bathroom stalls on the phone with my brother. My fingers grazing over the words scripted into the bathroom walls, trying to keep the tears from fully forming and cascading down my face
“What! Shay, are you serious?” He sounds pissed. I can tell he is walking away from his co-workers he’s out of town with when I hear a creaking door in the background and their loud voices fade.
“I want to go home. I’m going to call Dad.” I take a shuddered breath. “I can’t believe this is my prom, it’s ruined. I won’t get another shot.” I finally give up the fight and let the tears fall.
“Sis, listen to me,” he states firmly. He pauses, waiting for my full attention. When he knows I’m fully coherent, he starts up again. “I can’t be there and it sucks, but this is your prom, you can’t leave. I want you to go out and find Lana. I assume she’s there with Joel?” I hear the disdain in his voice echoed with his name.
“Yeah. She’s out there dancing.”
“Good, now go out there and wait for me to call you back. Got it?”
I’m unsure why he’d call back, it is what it is. “Kings, I don’t know. I don’t want to go out there. I’m too embarrassed.”
“Shayla, don’t piss me off. I’m your big brother, so what I say goes. Get your ass out there and wait for me to call you. Better yet, go dance with my girl and keep her busy.” Lana’s not his girl in the literal sense, but he wishes he could change that.
“Fine. You better call me back, Kings. Please don’t leave me hanging,” I beg him.
“Have I ever abandoned you?”
No, he never has.
“No.”
“Exactly, now wipe the makeup off your face, put on that beautiful smile, and get out there.”
“Okay.” Hanging up, I stand in front of the mirror and wash my face clean from any smudged eyeliner and running mascara. Opening my clutch, I pull out some foundation and do a quick re-apply. Once I’m pleased with my appearance, I make my way back into the gym and sit at the nearest vacant table.
The floor was covered with a new dance floor that changes colors every few minutes. The lights hung on top of the sheer white drapes give a moonlit vibe that complements the star-crossed lovers theme. It’s elegant and classy. The tables are laced with white cloths, which are accented with fake candles placed inside marble filled vases. I’m impressed with how a small town school gym can look this nice.
I search the crowd for Lana. With no luck, I shoot her a quick text.
Me: Hey, where are you?
