She stands and heads toward my door, but before she walks out, she turns back to me.
“I know you want to go dark tomorrow. I respect that. You know we won’t bother you. But…could you maybe…instead of turning off your phone…”
“I know, V. I’m going to mute all my notifications, but I’ll keep my phone on and my location shared.”
“Thank you. I just…you know I worry.”
“I know. You’re the mom I always wanted.” I send her a smile.
“Be careful tomorrow. I’m here if you need me.”
* * *
When I pullBaby up the driveway to the two-bedroom house of my childhood, my skin prickles with awareness, and I am certain there are eyes on me. Probably the nosy ass, two-faced neighbors gathering gossip fodder of the Barnes’ wayward daughter and her disgraceful lifestyle.
Never mind I’ll graduate from Butler University with honors. Never mind I’ll likely have a job straight out of college that makes more than my parents do. Sure, it’s accounting and accounting sucks, but who cares?
The point is that I’m making something of myself, but all these twats see is turquoise hair, piercings, and a shitty attitude. God, why does this small town have to be populated by so many small-minded people? It would be so homey and pleasant, otherwise.
Thankfully, I stopped about thirty minutes out of town to eat half the brownie from V, and the high is starting to set in. Bran will forgive me for starting without him. I’m not one to advocate for using substances as a crutch, but I make an exception any time I have to deal with Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. I don’t need an assault charge on my rap sheet.
I take off my helmet and lock it to my bike. Then, feeling every bit like Daniel, I walk toward the lion’s den. Too bad I’m not blameless. Too bad there’s no one to save me.
It takes all my restraint not to gag at the Bless These Guests door wreath and the Joshua 24:15 welcome mat. At least they didn’t repurchase the All Are Welcome Here mat that I stole, because that one was a flat-out lie.
I knock—because you knock at strangers’ houses—then stand back and wait.
My mother opens the door wearing an apron and a huge smile. Roots peppered with grays and a full face by Avon. She’s happy to see me, so my shoulders loosen slightly.
“Oh, my baby girl is home!” she says, and sweeps me into an awkward hug. “Come on in, baby. Happy happy birthday.”
She shuttles me through the door.
“Take off your shoes. You can leave them here,” she says, like I don’t already know the drill. The house rules are burned into my brain. After I do as I’m instructed, she moves me around the corner into the dining room where a cake with white and pink icing sits on the table.
“I got you a cake from the Wal-Mart in town.” Town doesn’t mean our town, but the larger one a half hour from here that has actual grocery stores, a Target, fast-food joints, and more than one gas station.
“How was your drive? Oh, I’m so glad you could make it home.” She hugs me again. “I’ve missed my baby girl.”
I pat her on the back and speak for the first time since walking in.
“Hey, Ma.” She pulls back, keeping her hands on my shoulders, and rakes her eyes over me as if she hasn’t seen me in years. Then she frowns slightly.
“Is that new?” Her eyes are on my nose. I’ve had my nose pierced since freshman year of college, but she always asks this.
“Nope. Same stud and everything.” I did switch out the hoop and tone down the eyeliner, though. Because despite everything, much to my disgust, I still would like her acceptance.
“Hmm,” she sighs and turns away, “I don’t know why you want to tarnish the body God gave you. You have such a beautiful face.”
“God gave me the gift of free will, Ma.” I flash her a smirk and watch as she tries to hide her smile. “With it, I chose to get my nose pierced. I think he should be happy that I’m actually using his gift instead of trying to return it for a refund.”
If she knew about my two tattoos, she would flip out. Instead, she just huffs.
“You kids will be the death of me.”
I watch as her body tenses, and we both pause and avert our eyes, but that’s the extent of the acknowledgment. Neither of us say anything about her use of the plural noun. Kids. Not kid. I change the subject.
“Smells good in here, Ma.”
“I’m making a pork loin in the new Crock-Pot.” She smiles and hurries to the kitchen counter. “And mashed potatoes just the way you like them. And I made a Caesar salad.”
She’s eager to please me, and my mood thaws as my mouth waters. It’s quite a change from spaghetti nights and tater tot casserole. I guess being empty nesters means they can swing for fancier food. I’m jealous. I don’t want to be, but I am.
“Can’t wait. I’m just gonna use the bathroom then I’ll help you set the table.”
“Of course, of course. Dad will be in soon.”
Awesome.
I walk through the hallway, past a wall full of framed photos, and into the bathroom. When I’m done, I don’t resist the pull to check out my old room. It’s a smack to the chest walking through the door. It smells stale and dusty, but my posters are still on the wall, my bulletin board still tacked full of pictures and concert tickets. Even the purple bedspread on the bottom bunk of the bunk bed is the same.
It’s the other side of the room that sucks the air from my lungs. I’m not surprised—it’s been like this for a long time now—but it hasn’t gotten easier to see.
Everything has been scrubbed clean.