“Ahh.” I nod. “Full circle. Nice.”
She frowns a bit and says. “What about your mom? Something tells me she’s keeping secrets too because it would be strange for her to just be complacent in this, right? Is she the type to just sit back and take it? And even then, you said all of your need for perfection came from her, so she’s either the opposite of perfect, or she drives you because she needs to control just one thing.” She gives an exaggerated shudder. “God, I should have majored in psych.”
“Yeah.” I stare down at my lap. “You should have. You know everything about me anyways. I’m convinced I need to be perfect in order to look at the piece of paper with those perfect grades and perfect eating habits and go ‘See? You aren’t about to crash out like your mom, gold star.’” I grimace. “She’s just…weak. I think that’s the best way to describe her.”
“And silent during a murder investigation, don’t forget that part.” Charlie adds. “Well, she seems pretty silent in all of this.”
I think about how Dad seems to be living his best life while Mom suffers. “She was never the same after Jude’s alleged death while Dad just moved on.”
“Which probably begs the question…why?”
“Me,” I admit as a buttload of guilt settles over me. “Why else would I try to be perfect in every single way? I went vegan for her because she was worried about my health, and I cried over a French fry once I found out Jude died, so she said fast food was a no, and well, here we are.”
“Have you mentioned it to her? Before?”
I shake my head.
She grabs my phone and slams it onto the couch. “Call her. Now. Get answers. Then go get your man.”
“He’s not my man,” I whisper.
“Heisyour man, plus he’s still listening.”
“What?”
“To your voice. To the lives you change when you read. Every night. He listens in his room. Not creepily, but like he misses the sound of your voice.”
Tears prick behind my eyelids. “I miss him too.”
“Okay then, fix it, no more moping or you really won’t graduate.”
She’s not wrong.
“Fine.” I grab the phone, take a deep breath, walk into my room, then sit down and call my mom.
It rings once, twice, three times, and finally on the fourth a garbled hello answers on the other end. She clears her throat. “Baby? You okay?”
“Yeah.” More tears well in my eyes. “I mean no. I guess I could be better.”
She snorts. “You never admit when you’re upset, so this must be bad, let me just pour a drink.”
Ah, the answer to everything. My stomach immediately sinks.
“Been drinking lots of water recently.”
Sure she has. Too bad it tastes like vodka.
“Alright, what’s going on?”
“You um, remember Jude?”
She’s so silent I think the line’s gone dead.
“Mom?”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember him. What that poor boy went through, what his father put him through. I never really cared for that family, but his mom did the best she could in trying to protect him. Going as far as to make up those bad grades to get him out of the house when shipments came in.”
“Shipments?”
