I leaned forward and Mitch leaned forward too. “You get turned on by trees,” I whispered and he let out a loud laugh.
“You’re making that up!” he accused.
I widened my eyes innocently. “Nope. It’s totally a thing. Google it.”
“No, I believe you. But trust me, I don’t become aroused by bark,” he protested with amusement.
“Aroused by bark? What in the hell are you two talking about?” Vivian jumped in, knocking over her drink. Liquid sloshed across the table and ended up in my lap.
“Vivian! You suck!” I screeched, jumping to my feet. I looked down at my wet pants. “Great, now it looks like I peed myself!”
“Oh, yeah, it does. Sorry about that, Gracie,” Vivian apologized.
I climbed out of the booth, glaring at my roommate and her annoying boyfriend who was laughing his ass off.
I hurried to the bathroom and tried to dry myself the best I could. My phone rang mid-clean up.
“Hello?”
I shouldn’t have answered. I should have let it go to voicemail. But I didn’t. Because I had briefly forgotten how caller ID worked.
“Darling, there you are! I’ve been trying to call you all morning.” I balled up the paper towels and threw them in the trashcan with a little more force than was necessary.
“Hi, Mom,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Where have you been? What is the point of having a phone if you never answer it?” Mom snipped. Obviously she was spoiling for a fight and no matter how I tried to avoid it, she’d find some way to turn our conversation into one.
“I’m out to lunch with my friends. We’re celebrating. I got some good news this morning,” I said brightly. Maybe I was wrong and she’d be proud of me. Maybe, for once, she could see that I was capable of something more than being their poor, little drunk daughter.
“Oh. Why is that?” my mother asked. She wasn’t interested. I could tell. I bet she was fixing her hair or baking cookies. Something that, in her estimation, deserved more of her attention.
“My editor at Southern Gardens magazine called me this morning. She was extremely impressed with my latest article. She offered me a fulltime staff writing position.”
“Oh. Well that’s nice, sweetheart,” she remarked dismissively. “I spoke with Dr. Chase yesterday and he can see you tomorrow morning. I think it would be good for you to see someone else since that quack you’ve been going to dropped your therapy to once a week.”
It was as though I had never spoken. My momentous news not even a blip on her radar.
I had a fulltime job. My editor had thought the work I did worthy of a promotion. What about that screamed you need more shrinking? Though I was sure she hadn’t really heard any of it. She had her reason for calling and that was all she focused on.
“Mom, I’m not going to see anyone else. And I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to discuss me with a professional without my consent. I’m an adult after all,” I told her sharply, pissed and hurt by her attitude.
“I am your mother. Of course it’s appropriate! I only want what’s best for you! Considering that you almost died because of your issues, clearly you need my input. And I know that you’ve lost weight, so it’s obvious you’re still struggling!”
“How would you know if I’ve lost weight? Do you have a camera in my bathroom?” I demanded. I couldn’t listen to this. Not now. Not when I should be feeling good about myself.
“Grace Cook, don’t you dare speak to me that way! I don’t know what’s happened to my wonderful, little girl, but she’s become a surly adult that I don’t think I like very much. This is why you need to move back home. You’re not yourself.”
Your wonderful, little girl is trying to grow a backbone, I thought angrily but I didn’t say it. The conversation was already heated enough.