"How's my little baby doing?" My mother croons into the phone in her ridiculously posh accent. Over the years I'd heard people compare her voice from everything to an Old Hollywood Starlett, to Cher after she smoked like a million cigarettes. It was her pride and joy, her voice was.
"Your father's been keeping me updated about renovations on the house, my love. It's absolutely adorable!" My mother continues, and I hear the sound of cars and traffic honking and beeping in the background, so I assume she's either on the highway or standing in front of an expensive dress store waiting to go in. "I'm hoping to catch a flight sometime in the winter to see you and James! Wouldn't that be lovely? Is she still dressing in your father's hideous clothing?"
I feel a surge of anger as she continues on. Her blatant disregard for my situation and James seems to fly right over her head as she continues to ramble on.
"I was telling your dad about the kitchen the other day and how hideous it is," My mother continues, "He wants to play off the country vibe, but I--"
"Who cares about the stupid house, Ma?" I reply sharply, cutting her off, "What about me? I know you've always let me be my own man, but seriously? I could have died! Don't you care?"
There's silence on the other end of the phone, and for one blissful second, I imagine her weeping in shame while wearing her cherry red pumps and a giant fucking hat that resembled a large bird. My mother was a model, a graphic designer, and a businesswoman. She didn't cry easily, her emotions carefully tucked into a fancy purse, out of sight. This had made growing up with her challenging, but she'd loved her children anyway, in an entirely different way from ordinary moms.
"What are you talking about?" She questions, and suddenly the traffic stops and there's the clink of coffee cups behind her. "Micha? Did something happen?"
"Yeah!" I practically yell into the phone, "I wrecked dad's car, mom! There was a tree and a--"
I stop when her question hits me all of a sudden.
Oh. Shit.
"What is going on?" She demands, and I hear her getting angry, not at me, but at the whole situation. She was confused because my father had failed to call her when I wrecked his truck and ran into a ditch. Now I knew why he'd been so angry this morning about her finding out about what I'd done.
I stare out the window when she begins asking more questions, panic in her voice, but all I could think about was how lucky Asa was that he could fly away from everything whenever he wanted. People always talked about how divorces were hard, but they never talked about how it left shockwaves behind for people like me, James, and even our little brother.
"Oh my God!" My mother wails, "I'm going to call my assistant so she can book me the closest flight! Where's my fucking planner?"
"Ma'm, do you still want your frappuccino?" A man questioned in the background.
"Fuck off!" My mother shrieks, "My son is dying!"
"Mom!" I interrupt her as she's panicking like I knew she would. "I'm fine, okay? I just wrecked his car, he's already planning on buying another one. It was my fault anyway. There was a really bad storm and a tree fell in the middle of the road. Don't waste your time coming down, I'll be in school and dad wants me to try out for the football team."
"I'm going to kill him!" She replies, "I should have been the first to know about this, Micha. Why didn't you call me? Or text me? You know I always answer my phone."
"I don't know. I guess I didn't want you to worry," I say, and I fiddle a little with the ice in my cup of water that James had brought me earlier. "Anyway...I met a boy," I admit once she seems to calm down, "He's my neighbor. He's really weird and he dresses funny, but he's nicer than the kids back home. Asa? That's his name."
"Oh, baby," she says, "That's wonderful that you're making friends. I'm so relieved that it's going well for you. I wish I could be there to see it all."
Tears well in my eyes and I quickly wipe them away. "I know," I reply, "I wish you could, too."
"Does this Asa boy live in the house down the hill?" She questions, "Your father told me everything. He's dying to meet them! I think he even mentioned having dinner with them in the future to discuss buying their property and developing some houses there. Isn't that lovely?"
"What?" I whisper hoarsely, but I don't hear her response.
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