Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“It’s coming down like dogs and cats out there!” she cries—she always gets the saying backwards. “I have been calling you nonstop for hours! It’s well after midnight! Where’ve you been??”
The music must still be playing in my ears, Austin’s soulful voice, guitar, swimming lights and colors … I find myself floating over the kitchen tiles, immune to my mom’s outburst, as I come up to her. “Smooth sailing down the highway,” I answer her, a disarming contrast to her harsh tone of voice, and then I hug her. “Thankfully not literal sailing, considering how much it rained,” I add with a chuckle. Then I pull back. “I had the best time, Mom.”
She’s mystified. “Doing what?”
I grin. “Living.” Then I waltz to the fridge, pull it open, and help myself to a beverage I haven’t had in ages: a strawberry soda. I have no idea what brand it is or where my mom gets it from, but she always keeps it stocked, probably because I fell in love with it when I was nine and she remembers everything, and the second I crack it open and sip its sugary sweetness, I’m grounded at once. “Freakin’ love this stuff,” I moan after letting out a long, satisfying, slightly obnoxious exhale.
Thunder booms outside, right on cue. A new wave of heavy rain dumps over the house and slaps the windows in gusts.
Then it hits me. “Oh, I forgot, my phone died!” I pull it out and give it a mournful sigh, then frown at my mom. “I’m so sorry. Of course you were worried. I didn’t mean to do that to you. And you stayed up all this time waiting to hear back from me, and with this crazy storm …” I collapse against the counter with a frown. “I’m so sorry for putting you through that. How horribly irresponsible of me. I thought it was charging in the car, but I guess it wasn’t, and I didn’t realize it until way too late, and …”
All the windows shake from another boom of thunder. Only my mom startles, her wide eyes on me, like she doesn’t recognize her own son.
Maybe in many ways she shouldn’t. I’m a new person.
“I promise I won’t do that to you again,” I assure her, then add, “if I can help it.”
She seems surprised to discover her hand over her chest, then drops it and attempts to regain her composure. “TJ … I … the past couple of days … really ever since you’ve been home, actually …”
“Yeah, I know … I’ve been weird.” I take another enthusiastic slurp of strawberry soda. It’s hitting so perfectly tonight. “But after tonight, trust me, everything is … so … so much better now.” I’m pacing in a circle around the kitchen, I just realized, as light on my toes as a goddamned ballerina. I choke back a giggle as I settle in front of the sink, hugging my can of soda. “So much better.”
My mom is carefully planning her means of attack. I see her strategizing. “Sweetie … last night, you didn’t come home. I know you said you went to meet a friend, but wouldn’t say who. Or what exactly you were doing in … in Fairview. I know you’re an adult—”
“Bowling.”
She lifts her eyebrows. “Bowling …?”
“And a movie. One of the late-night ones. But we missed most of it. And spilled the popcorn. Then figured it was too late to drive all the way home, so we made the very responsible decision to stay over in Fairview. Wasn’t that responsible of us?” I giggle again.
“I know you’re not drunk,” she states, as if convincing herself, “as you wouldn’t have gotten behind the wheel, of course, but I’m having a difficult time … understanding the way you’re acting.”
“Me too,” I say with absolute honesty.
She sucks in her bottom lip in thought, then lets out a little sigh. “Alright, fine, I’m just gonna ask. Is it a girl?”
I take a satisfying slurp of soda, swallow it like it’s heaven, and after another crashing boom of thunder, answer: “Nope.”
A long and steely silence passes, as if she’s giving me a chance to confess the existence of a girlfriend. When it’s clear that no confession is coming, she says, “Well, that’s something, at least.”
She sounds strangely relieved. “Something …?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she sighs out. “Guess I don’t have to worry that my son is running off having sex with girls in distant towns. I will go back to assuming it’s just … some pal you grew up with … if you still insist on not telling your mom things anymore.” She drags a finger over the screen of her phone, which sits on the counter. I bet it’s been there all night. She’s been circling it, waiting for me to call back. I feel guilty for causing that. “After all, never know what you’re up to at school half the time. You seem to be calling home so much less often, and I’m—” A boom of thunder interrupts her. She looks up at the window, startled, then seems to forget what she was saying.