Chapter 1 #2
Please, I beg the universe. Please don’t let her husband be here. I can barely handle my mom on the best of days. I absolutely can’t handle her husband today, too.
But as soon as I park, all four doors of the sedan launch open. As the two adults in the front seats get out and stretch, my step-dad’s kids, Noel and Noah, jump out like mini nukes set on destroying my entire life.
“Finally!” Noel complains, rolling her eyes at me. “We asked if Mom could just let us in, since she has a key. But she said we had to wait .” God forbid someone tell either of them to wait, I suppose, though I manage to give something like an apologetic smile. Or at least an approximation of one.
“Hey, Mom. Hi…Nathaniel,” I greet with a wan, clearly distressed smile. “What, umm… What are you doing here?” Please say leaving .
“We thought we’d come pay you a visit. We were in the area, Nathaniel took us to lunch over in Mazama,” she explains, and I realize he must be in the middle of a big contract if he’s taking her to some fancy tourist restaurant over there.
But clearly the point was to come see me, since there are plenty of closer, better restaurants back in Spokane.
“I’m really happy to see you—” She hugs me without pausing outside of my personal bubble, and I set my jaw hard so I don’t lose my grin. “But umm, I wish you would’ve called? I’m sort of?—”
“Oh, we won’t be here long. And we won’t be any trouble. The kids have been asking about you lately, and I’ve missed you,” my mom says, flapping a hand at me. Nathaniel gives me a bored grin, leaning on the car with his phone in his hand.
None of them had asked about me. My mother’s just a nosy busybody, is what I want to say. But I know better than to make this an issue when it doesn’t have to be one. All I need to do is?—
One of the twins runs into me, hard enough to send me stumbling to the gravel in my driveway. There’s a giggled, distracted apology, but they don’t stop to help as I pick myself up and sigh at my now skinned up palms.
I can’t do this .
“Gosh, Fern,” my mom sighs with her tone that makes it seem like I did this to myself.
“It’s fine.” I stare down at my stinging hands, palms welling with blood.
“It’s, umm…it’s fine.” Fuck, it’s really not fine.
I’m at the end of my rope, and the twins are cutting through it until I’m stuck with fraying threads of nervous frustration.
“I-I’m going to go get cleaned up. But Mom, I really don’t have time for this today.
I just came home to pick some stuff up.” It’s a lie, but I can’t help it.
I need them gone .
Without listening to her reply, I stumble toward my front door, fishing my keys out of my pocket and getting blood on my shirt as I do. Every beat of my heart seems to make the blood flow a little faster, and I don’t bother putting my keys away as I walk inside. I just…drop them.
That feeling is back, the one I've been trying all day to push aside.
It’s all too much . Everything is too loud again, from the heater to the fridge, to the electricity in the walls.
Noel or Noah shrieks and I trip at the noise, reminding myself that it’s fine.
I’m fine.
I’m.
Fine.
Somehow, I make it to the bathroom without really being conscious of the route my feet take.
Somehow I do it without falling over something, though once I do I just stand there, watching my pale reflection in the mirror.
My blonde hair is limp, and my light blue eyes are so pale, they look like the panic and loudness have pulled out all the color until I’m just a ghost.
God, I wish I was a ghost right now.
I’m fine, I’m fine ? —
This isn’t the end of the world, I tell myself as panic crawls up my throat.
My palms ache, the electricity whirs, and every breath seems to thrust my heart into overdrive.
I need to be alone, but I know from experience it’ll take an hour or more to get rid of my mom, my step-dad, and their terrible children.
I know they’ll want to stay. They’ll want to chat. They’ll try to talk about all the things I’m doing wrong while the twins run through my little house like bulls in a china shop.
I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m ? —
The front door closes and distantly I hear my mom saying something, calling something that might be my name.
But I can’t pull my eyes from my reflection in the mirror.
My hands hurt more than they did earlier, but I’m not looking at them.
Dimly, I remember getting the first aid kit from under the cabinet.
I think.
I swear I did at some point in the last minute.
Maybe they hurt because I’m bandaging them, even though something feels wrong with that statement.
Why do my hands hurt so badly?
“Fern?” Mom’s voice echoes in the hallway, making me wince. The sound wars with the buzzing electricity that’s oppressive in my ears, and the way my hands just hurt so badly that it makes me grit my teeth.
I’m fine. I’m fine.
I’m fine ? —
“FERN!” My mom’s scream drags me out of my thoughts, and I stare at her, puzzled by the sudden draining of color from her face, and the way her eyes aren’t fixed on my face, but on my hands. “Oh my god, Fern. What did you do? ”
Finally I look down, seeing the small scissors clutched in one hand. My knuckles are white from being curled tightly around them while my other hand lies flat against the sink as I dig, dig, dig ?—
The blood is the last thing I notice before my mom suddenly grabs me, already yelling for Nathaniel as she chucks the scissors against the far wall and covers my hand in a sage green hand towel.
Rather than being worried about what I’ve done, all I can think of is how the blood isn’t going to come out, that it’ll ruin the color scheme of my bathroom if it stains.
Priorities, after all, are important.