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She honestly thought she could talk her mom out of the
lawyer deal and get her to see that her art was truly coming
along, but her mom seemed to stare straight through it. You’d
think that as an artist herself, she’d be more understanding and
supportive, or at least more encouraging.
Emily retrieved her backpack and followed her mom into
the kitchen, where she watched her grab a bottle of ibuprofen
off the shelf above the gas range. She twisted off the lid and
shook out two small pills, which she popped into her mouth
and swallowed with a small bottle of orange juice she pulled
out of the fridge.
Emily dropped her backpack to the floor. The sound seemed
to vibrate through the room and roll through her mom. Sandra
tensed as if she knew something big was coming. Some huge
blowout that was going to rattle through her skull for days to
come. The migraine to end all migraines, all compliments of
her exasperating and exhausting daughter.
“I didn’t want to have to say this,” she charged on. She
couldn’t swallow back the words now or she might forever be
capitulating, giving up on her dreams, going to work in a
courtroom or an office every single day.
Sandra waved her hand, gesturing wildly for Emily to get on
with it. The bottle of juice wasn’t capped and some of it
sloshed out the top, but Sandra acted like she didn’t even see
it.
Emily inhaled sharply. She was worried that she’d gone too
far, and she hadn’t even said a word yet. “If you don’t…if you
don’t drop the law school thing, since I have never wanted to
be a lawyer, and I’d be absolutely terrible at it, then I’m going
to come out in the most spectacular fashion. Everyone will
