10. Arabella
10
Arabella
I t felt like it took forever to find Wrinley and the guys, and they were less than thrilled that we left early, but they also refused to let me Lyft home. Whatever. Ryker’s overbearing attitude ruined my night and I’m equally pissed off. By the time I had sobered up, I was over it all anyway and just wanted to crawl into bed. This is why I don’t go out. Inevitably, something goes wrong.
Before I realized who I’d collided with, I was excited to possibly ditch my date for the steel wall standing in my way. Then he said my name and I was instantly worried I’d run into an old one nighter that I never called back. Ryker Hart is the last person I thought I’d see. He’s taller than I remember and I don’t remember him being quite so sturdy. I didn’t hate it. His hair is still black, like I remember, but now he has some greys mixed in. The darkness of his hair is a stark contrast to his cerulean eyes and they complement each other so well. His head was shaved on the side and a little longer on the top, which is a new but nice look on him. And don’t get me started on the five o’clock shadow.
He was always attractive, and it may be the alcohol talking, but he’s seriously hotter now. But he’s also old enough to be my dad, which means my vagina needs to take a back seat to my brain and shut the fuck up. Because, admittedly, she wanted him for a hot minute. Okay, maybe ten hot minutes. His broody, protective daddy vibes and silky, stern voice were straight up pussy nip. Shit, maybe I’m still turned on. A lump forms in my throat as I try to convince myself this is just alcohol induced horniness and has nothing to do with him.
“Can I walk you up?” Brad nods in the direction of my apartment, breaking me out of my little fantasy. We dropped Wrinley and Thadd off at her place and now we’re alone. “I’ll feel better knowing you made it inside, safe and sound.” Unfortunately, at this point, I don’t really care what would make Brad feel better.
“I think I’m alright. I appreciate the thought,” I assure him as I pull my keys from my bag. “The area is safe enough, so I should be fine.”
“Alright sweetie, whatever you say. Can I see you again?” Sorry buddy, I don’t do repeats. You always want more. One and done, that’s the rule. You give them a second date, they’ll eventually want a third and on and on the cycle goes.
“Call me and maybe we can set something up. I’d love to get together again.” Lies. I’ll put him off until he realizes it’s not going to happen and gives up. It’s easier than telling him, to his face, that I’m not interested. Thankfully, he takes the hint and heads to his car, driving off with a quick wave.
Making my way to the second floor, I let myself in and kick off my heels. I swear these death traps will kill me one day. I can barely walk in them and the moment they come off, my toes throb as the blood rushes back into them.
I can't wait to shower and clean off this terrible evening. Standing in front of the mirror, I stare at myself and the shame washes over me as I wonder how I got here. I’m twenty-three and have fuck all to show for it. No college degree, a shitty job that barely covers all of my expenses and I hate the thick, non-sexy body I see reflected back in the mirror.
My phone rings and I see mom’s face staring up at me from the bathroom counter. It’s past midnight and I’m too sober to talk to her. Off to voicemail she goes. She’s going to be pissed, but I’ll take the L on this one. I’m not in the mood.
My shower took longer than I’d planned, but the heated water raining against my skin was exactly what I needed. I heard my phone go off a couple more times and I don't need to look to know who was calling.
Dried off and feeling refreshed, I listen to her three unnecessarily long voice messages and decide I should suck it up and call her back, despite it being the middle of the night. Otherwise, the calls won’t stop. The woman is relentless when she wants something and I’m pretty sure she’s inhuman and never sleeps anyway.
Curling my legs under me, I sit on the bed and dial her number. She picks up on the first ring, which tells me she knew exactly how to play me. “Hey Mom. I’m about to head to bed. What’s up?”
“Is that any way to greet the person who brought you into this world?” she chides. The cycle has stayed the same all these years. She’s been reasonably fine the past couple of years but she never lets me forget I owe her for the privilege of being born.
“You know I love you Mom. What can I do for you?” I respond through gritted teeth.
“Can you stop at the pharmacy tomorrow morning and pick up my prescriptions? You know how I get without them, honey.” Oh perfect, she pulled out the honey .
I already know the answer to this question, but I ask it anyway. “Why can’t you go get them?”
“I feel so shaky and you know I’m not supposed to drive. I’d hate to get in an accident. I’m less worried about myself than I am other people on the road.” Of course she is . I swear she's a mixture of multiple people pasted together into one body. It's hard to know which one I'll get. Today I got my super sweet and fragile mom. Tomorrow could be totally different.
“Sure, I’ll take care of it. But I can't stay to visit. I have work at noon.” It’s a partial truth and a hell of a lot easier than the alternative where I simply tell her I don't want to stay long. One of these days, I swear I’ll draw the line and push her to do more for herself. She doesn’t really care what I have to do, let alone what I want , or don't want to do. I have to work, but not until late afternoon.
“Whatever you say Arabella. I know you have better things to do than hang out with your dear old mother. I wish I didn’t have to rely on you so much, but you’re such a help to me. I couldn’t get through any of this without your help.” Classic Christine guilt trip. It’s subtle, but it’s there. I could say something and hope she listens, but she's not capable of listening and I'm not all that capable of speaking up.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Mom. Love you, goodnight.” I quickly end the call and plop onto my pillow as a couple rogue tears fall down my cheek. An hour later, sleep finally takes me.