It just before seven o’clock on Wednesday when Skylar’s cell phone rang, and dread raced up her neck. She was sitting in the living room on one of Aunt Nora’s cushy chairs, where she’d been trying to focus on her math homework. She closed the book instantly and sat up straight in her chair.
She knew who it was. Had to be.
It was her forty-second birthday, after all.
Her mom. Valerie.
She hadn’t spoken to her mother in over a month now. When she picked up the phone from the coffee table, her hand was shaking.
“You would have forgotten, wouldn’t you?” Her mom announced as soon as Skylar answered. Her voice was slushy, and it sounded like she was speaking with a cigarette in her mouth.
Skylar could picture her mom on the other end of the line, arranging her lips into a fake pout as she pulled her cigarette away to blow out the smoke.
Skylar tasted bile at the back of her throat. She cleared it.
“No, Mom, I was going to—” Skylar faltered. Had she really planned on calling her mother today?
Aunt Nora had encouraged Skylar to make a care package, or at least a card, to send to her mother in jail. She’d resisted. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to do it. She really was worried about how her mom was doing. She wanted to show that she cared. But she hated thinking about her mom’s reaction. It would be overly effusive. “Look at what my daughter sent me,” Skylar could picture her saying to her inmate pals. “We love each other so much.” It would be a farce.
“Lucy would have remembered,” her mom cut into Skylar’s thoughts, making her stomach turn. “Poor Lucy.”
Nora was hovering in the kitchen doorway, pretending not to eavesdrop. Skylar took a deep breath and willed herself not to cry.
“Yeah, Mom,” she said. “I’m sorry. About everything. I was . . . thinking of you today, though.”
“You better have been,” Valerie said with a barking laugh. “After all I’ve done for you.”
“I know, Mom,” she said meekly. And then, with false cheer, she tried to change the subject. “Well, things are going okay up here. I’m on a dance committee. And I’m catching up in my classes.” Not that her mom had asked.
“Umm-hmmm,” Valerie murmured. Then there was silence on the other end, probably while she took another drag of her Camel Light. Skylar snuck a glance at the clock.
Meg was due over any second. Skylar hadn’t seen Meg in days—every single one of her teachers had decided to pile on the homework this week. She wanted to hear Meg’s opinion about what had happened at Gabby’s party. On the surface, everything was smoothed over. Skylar had stayed for the duration of the pajama party, but she’d gone to bed early feigning a stomachache. Then she’d ignored Gabby’s calls on Sunday. On Monday she’d put on her game face. And it was a good thing, too, because Gabby came running up to her first thing.
“Hey, Skylar,” Gabby said, her blue eyes shining and set off by a dusty-pink sweater. “Guess what?!”
“What?”
“The Dusters said yes!” Gabby squealed and slapped Skylar’s shoulder. “And it’s all thanks to you!”
Since then Skylar had done a great job of pretending everything was normal. The fact that Gabby was spreading the word that the Dusters had been Skylar’s idea helped a lot. So yeah. Skylar had been distracted by things other than her mom’s birthday.
“Skylar, we need to talk,” Valerie said then, and Skylar’s skin began to itch. Those were dreaded words.
“Mom, I don’t really have time for . . . for a full conversation right now,” she said, employing the so-called neutral tone that she’d read about in online forums about alcoholism. “I hope you’re having a happy birthday, and—”
“Don’t you patronize me, Dumpling,” her mom said. “Remember who you’re speaking to.” She coughed, and suddenly her tone was sweet. “Anyway. I want to talk about what it’s going to be like when I get out of here. What we’re going to do.”
What they were going to do? The words sat like curdled milk on Skylar’s tongue. They weren’t going to do anything. Skylar was alone. A team of one. And just as she was thinking of how to say that without hurting her mom’s feelings more than she had to, the doorbell rang.
Shit.
“Mom, actually, I gotta go,” she said into the phone.
As quickly as it had appeared, her mom’s amiability melted away. The harsh tone returned. “Getting rid of me, huh?”
“It’s not like that, Mom,” Skylar said, feeling a familiar frenetic energy racing through her body. This call had to end. I have to go. I have to go. I have to go. The thought pulsed through her veins. “I just—I have a friend coming over. She’s here now. I didn’t . . . I didn’t know you were going to call. . . .”