Turns out, adulting is stressful. Not only that, eating Frosted Flakes as one’s only meal for seven days straight will do that to a person.
And when my boss didn’t reimburse me when I fronted the money for one of our takeout orders, he threw my entire budget out of whack, and a quart of milk was all I could afford at the store.
Mom brings the plate of food to me, I do my best not to inhale the entire plate in record time.
My mother sits down next to me with a hot cup of tea and says, “What’s wrong with your car?”
I shrug, then say, mouth still full, “It just died. I don’t know. He’s going to call with the damage later.”
She purses her lips. “Dax?”
I nod. Oh, here it comes . . .
She takes a sip of her tea. “You should let your father take care of it.”
“Fine,” I say absently. What she’s worried about doesn’t matter.
Dax doesn’t have my new cell phone number anyway. He won’t be able to call me directly, so he’ll have to call the old house phone. When he does, he can speak to my father and relay all the information to him.
And as much as it pains me to do it, I’m intending to stay far away from him again, starting now.
Yes, Dax makes my insides turn to Jell-O, which is exactly why I have to avoid him at all costs.
She reaches over and touches my hand. “I meant it about Dax, honey. Really, you have to tread carefully when it comes to that boy.”
I roll my eyes. “I know, mom. I got it. I’m not going to see Dax again. So just stop.” Maybe it’s the chilly atmosphere, but I think that’s a new record: getting into an argument with my mom in the first fifteen minutes of being home. I yawn. “I think I’m just tired. I’m going to head upstairs and turn in early.”
The stern look on her face morphs to concern. She reaches over and tucks a stray hair behind my ear. “Okay, honey. Leave that dress in the hallway. I’ll see if anything can be done.”
I put my bowl in the dishwasher, grab my bag, and head upstairs to my bedroom. When I get there, I pause in the doorway, where I’d measured my height from the time I was able to stand. There are dozens of little scrawlings in my improving handwriting, along with my age. I sigh.
The funny thing is, when I left for college, I never worried for a second that my parents might turn my empty room into a sewing or exercise room. While other parents couldn’t wait for that chance, mine made it clear on the day I left for college that this would stay my room, period. Forever, end of story. It’s all white wicker and Laura Ashley lace in pale pink and mint green. My mother took me to a department store to pick it out when I turned eight.
It’s mine.
Even though I was just here for Christmas, somehow, the whole place looks smaller, different. I realize I’m looking at it with new eyes, the eyes of someone who knows she might not see this room ever again.
The thought of another family living here makes a knot form in my throat. This is my place. My home.
I throw my bag on the ground and collapse on the bed, staring up at the Unicorn poster over my bed.
During the one and only time Dax came into my bedroom, I was eighteen. Since my house is a ranch, he climbed in the window. I’d never had a boy in my room before that. He’d made all sorts of jokes about how my bedroom was perfectly fine for any six-year old. When I was officially so embarrassed I couldn’t even look at him, he swooped down and kissed me. My first kiss. Before that, I’d thought the smell of cigarette smoke was disgusting. One taste of him, and I became an addict. We’d only known each other three days.
Dax had that surprising way about him; he’d make you think he was heading one way and go in a completely different direction.
Sighing, I strip off my still-damp dress, leave it in the hallway for my mom to deal with, and riffle around in my bag for a new pair of clean underwear I already know I didn’t pack. Sighing, I peel off my wet undies and get into my comfy boxers and tank. I snuggle down into my familiar bed and start to charge my phone, already predicting and dreading what I’m going to see when I open my work email, because heaven forbid I don’t look at it for an hour.
I feel sicker and sicker as I scroll through each unread message. I’d had my out-of-office assistant on, of course, but obviously, no one pays attention to those. There are at least a dozen emails from Fowler. The looks he gave me when I asked for an advance of my vacation time in order to settle things back home could have frozen the Caribbean.
I’d only been at the job three months, but the news of my parents’ divorce was not just catastrophic. It was so unexpected, it practically took the breath out of me. I walked around in a daze the first 24 hours after my mother’s phone call, trying to process it.