4. Coraline
4
CORALINE
A slow smile stretches across my face as I shake my head slowly, laughter warming my chest. “You’re too easy, Mom. Of course I know it’s Sunday. We’ve only been doing this for . . . oh, I don’t know, a million years? The concert is after dinner.”
She rolls her shoulders back and looks to the right, off camera. “Yes, well, if I don’t have dinner every week, then how on Earth would I ever see my children?” There’s something off about her tone. It doesn’t have the usual lilt.
I’ve always been able to read my mother. It’s a skill I’ve only ever really learned how to master with a handful of people in my life. The four most important women. I’m sure there’s some deeper meaning behind that, but I’ve never cared enough to dive into it really.
My brows dig toward one another as the smile slides off my face. “What’s wrong?”
Her gaze snaps to mine, a forced smile curling across her face. “Nothing, honey. Everything is just perfect. We’ll see you tomorrow then? Alone, right?”
My cheeks heat at the unwelcome reminder of last month when I showed up with the guy I was seeing by my side. I clear my throat and let my gaze fixate on something across the room. “How many times do we have to talk about this? I told you that I’m not seeing Grant anymore.”
Mom tsks, but there’s no reprimand in it. “Yes, well, I was just checking. I’m still not sure what you saw in that man anyway, Coraline.”
I blow out a breath and refocus on her, forcibly injecting some dry humor into my voice. “Well, you’re in luck, Mom, because I’m only bringing myself and my sparkling personality.” I pause, remembering the dessert. “Oh, and I made something new to bring.” The excitement is palpable in my voice now, tilting the words up at the end. “I think Dad’s really going to like it.”
She switches topics easily. “Your father will eat anything, you know that, Cora.”
I chuckle. “I know, but I think he’s really going to like this one. There’s a difference.” And there is. I know he’s agreeable enough to eat anything I put in front of him and be happy. But I’ve been searching for the perfect thing to create that’s going to elicit a dramatic response from him. My father is almost too laid back. Unflappable and easy-going in the way my mother is high-strung and anxious.
“Yes, well, as long as it’s not some kind of goat’s milk cheese balls or whatever.” She waves her hand in the air, the hot pink garden glove flapping like a flag in the breeze. “I think you’ll be fine.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, swallowing the retort banging on the back of my teeth. I made the mistake of telling them what was inside a new recipe once . One single time. It was a mistake I didn’t make again.
“Nope, no goat’s milk in this one. Just a delicious summer staple.” My cheeks pinch with the forced smile, and my shoulders arch toward my ears.
“Hm, well, I’m not so sure about some of these things you feed us, you know. I’m a little nervous that you’re going to tell me I’m eating deep-fried lizard tongue one day or something,” she says around nervous laughter.
My phone vibrates with an incoming text. One of my roommates’ names flashes across the screen. Disappointment sinks into my gut like a stone in the lake. I just know she’s gonna cancel on me.
“Hey, Mom, I gotta go, okay? Harper just texted me, and she’s out of town, so I want to make sure she’s alright.”
“Oh, sure thing, honey. I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you, bye.” She ends the call after she sing-songs the last three words in the same rhythm she always has. Like her love is a musical number and the only way she can communicate it is via song. My cousin is like that sometimes too. It must be a Broadway thing—they both have a deep appreciation for it.
I like it as much as anyone, but if I’m going for the music, then I’m going to a concert. The kind of experience that you can only ever achieve when you’re connecting with hundreds or thousands of other souls in the same venue, all of you drunk on the frenetic energy of live music, screaming lyrics, and letting everything slough off of you. Your obligations, fears. Sometimes even inhibitions.
Living in Rosewood means I have to travel to get those experiences. There’s music here, don’t get me wrong. But it’s kids talent shows and festivals and karaoke night at The Wild Boar. Which is practically a Reaper bar, and almost the entire town knows my feelings on them. Or a certain one, at least.
I swipe over to Harper’s notification, the boulder of disappointment doubling.
Harper: Babe, I’m so sorry but I’m not going to be home in time for the concert! They overbooked the flight and I was one of the unlucky ones to get the boot. *sad face* But you better still go and send me photos! And please, for the love of god, take a video of the show! Just a couple songs!
My shoulders slump forward as I reread her text.
Me: Sure, going to a concert alone is always super fun *thumbs up emoji*
Passive-aggressive texting isn’t usually my thing, but I am a little annoyed. We’ve had these plans for like three months. Harper decided to take a last-minute trip to visit her boyfriend across the country last week. I tried to tell her, but she doesn’t listen to a word anyone says when it comes to him.
I can’t imagine ever being so twisted up about someone that I forget all reason. Drop all my plans and basically lift my middle finger to the rest of the world. When I’m feeling particularly masochistic, I think about that one time—that one person —that made me feel a little out of control. But it was never the all-consuming infatuation or love. I sigh, letting all that bad juju fall off of me. There’s no use in dragging up shit that’s better left untouched.
Harper: Please, you’re the most extroverted person I know. I bet you’ll leave the show with five new besties!
I exhale a breath, exhaustion settling in behind my eyes. I don’t bother correcting her assessment of me.
Me: It's fine. Have a safe flight home and I’ll see you later.
Harper: I told Davis you’d understand!
My top lip curls up at the mention of his name. Fucking Davis. I huff as I slide the platter of ice cream sandwiches into the freezer in the back of the bakery. My sour mood hangs over my head like a raincloud, and there’s only one thing that will dissipate it. I flick off the lights and lock the door, heading to the grocery.