Chapter 56 – Clover
Chapter Fifty-Six
Clover
“Are you seriously wearing that?” my mom says with her lips curled up in complete disgust. She always hates the clothes I wear. If I don’t have my whole ass out, she thinks I’m not trying hard enough to get a man. It’s seriously annoying. I nod and try not to say anything sassy in response.
I’m going out to dinner with my mom to celebrate our successful dance recital in a small British town with about three hundred residents and my mom’s dressing like a hoochie heading to an LA nightclub.
Since there are only like three restaurants in this town, I can only pray we don’t run into Thomas with his dad or Kola with her parents.
Tonight, mom convinced me to stay with her at the hotel and I don’t exactly want to spend all night posted up in my bedroom while my friends are out with their parents.
My mom spins around in her skin tight shiny gold dress with tassels at the bottom and six inch clear high heels with a little slot in the bottom. Yes, it’s a slot for tips. Yes, she wears those walking around everywhere.
“What’s wrong with my outfit? And why haven’t you said anything about my new look,” she says pouting.
I search her face for any more signs of fillers.
She didn’t talk to me for a week the last time I didn’t notice her latest lip job but that droop on her lower lip tells me she hasn’t had any work done in a while.
Shit… I hope this doesn’t ruin the night.
“What new look?” I ask innocently, hoping she doesn’t lose her cool.
My mom turns around and flips her dress up, showing me her butt in a thong.
Damn, mom can you chill for one freaking second?
She’s making me look at her ass and I still can’t figure out what the hell she’s talking about.
Ew… She keeps jiggling it. Okay, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before, but I’m almost certain that most eighteen-year-old girls don’t have to look at their mom’s bare ass and struggle to figure out what compliment she’s fishing for exactly.
“You look great,” I mutter noncommittally, hoping it inspires her to cover up her dang butt.
“Girl, I got a BBL! My butt is on fire. Views are up and the channel is thriving without your father. So many men want to date me now that I’m all caked up.”
She pulls her dress down and grabs my cheeks, nearly suffocating me in a cloud of Agent Provocateur – her signature scent.
I cough a little, which lowers my defenses and allows her to plant a red lipstick kiss on my forehead.
I gag from the cloud of her perfume but try to act like I’m still coughing.
“You know we’re going to a little pub in a small town, right? You don’t need to get so dressed up.”
If all eyes aren’t on her, she acts like it’s a major crisis.
“You’re worried about my outfit? Honey, you’re dressed like a man,” she says bluntly. I knew she was just waiting for her opportunity to jump all over me. She seriously never changes. Sigh.
I’m wearing vintage green Adidas track pants, fresh all-white Adidas sneakers and an oversized t-shirt with a distressed picture of Left Eye on the front.
This is not manly. It’s my style. I shake my dreads out of my face and stake a step back away from my mom’s grabby ass hands and insanely long manicure.
“I’m fine,” I grunt. “I’m not dressed like a man. This is fashion.”
My mother scoffs.
“This is why you don’t have a boyfriend. No man’s going to stick around to fuck some chick who dresses like a little boy. Did you watch that blowjob tips video I sent you? Try those next time.”
My cheeks darken. First of all, I’m pretty sure it’s a crime that she sent something like that to her 18-year-old daughter and if it isn’t a crime, it should be. Second, I definitely did not watch the freaking video. Why the hell is she so obsessed with me getting a man anyway?
“Maybe I don’t want a boyfriend…” I grumble.
“So you’re still single!” she says excitedly, a notable change in mood that immediately raises my suspicions and makes me regret not at least pretending to have a boyfriend.
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Don’t worry, if you want to look better, I’ll get you a BBL for Christmas. Maybe a boob job?” She reaches her hands out and squeezes my boobs aggressively with a grossed out look on her face.
“They’re all weird and natural,” she says. “I think you could do much better with H-cups.”
“Mom!”
“I’m trying to help, Clover,” she says in her mom-voice. I take the warning and roll my eyes.
“Can we just eat?”
“Fine. But I’m telling people you’re my sister.”
“We’re going to a small pub in a small British town. There are no people.”
“And nothing to film…” she says, not bothering to hide her disappointment.
We head down to the pub where no one says anything about my mom’s outfit and she’s clearly disappointed when she picks a table in the middle of the room and not a single one of the geriatric small town British retirees comes over to hit on her.
After we start on our salads, she scoffs.
“Clover, this place is dead. If we were in L.A., you would be going home tonight with a sexy producer who could put you in a movie or Law & Order or something.”
“I like it here.”
“Girl, you lame,” my mom says, setting down her fork and reaching into her small Yves St Laurent clutch for a folded stack of six papers which she slides onto the table. I know I’ve walked into a sneak attack, but I can’t determine the nature of the sneak attack.
“What are those?”
She politely dabs her cheeks with the napkin and clears her throat.
“Honey, we need to talk about your Christmas vacation.”
“Have you and dad decided where you’re sending me?”
She gives me a wide-eyed look as if I’m stupid as hell for daring to ask.
“You’re staying with me of course,” she says defensively, her voice raising a little bit. “I am your damned mother. You came out of my vagina in front of God and everybody on the internet.”
Well, she’s finally attracted the attention of the geriatrics by screaming the word ‘vagina’. I don’t want to finish my salad anymore.
She’ll make a scene if I let her, so I have to keep the situation under control.
Pissing her off could lead to a meltdown, another overdose or some other next level situation that I am not in the mood for.
We’re supposed to be celebrating my dance recital.
She also promised to bring Cee, but he obviously isn’t here.
“Chill mom. I got it. I’m staying with you. Where’s Cee staying?”
I haven’t seen my brother in way too long.
“Chaos-Shooter’s staying with your dad. You can see him on Boxing Day.”
She always uses his full name, like Cee ain’t embarrassed enough by them. I bite my lip. If I want to see him, I’d better chill and behave myself. My mom’s a little dramatic and I don’t want this spiraling.
“Okay,” I tell her. “Whatever. I’ll see him on Boxing Day.”
“You have to sign these before you stay with me for the holidays.”
She slides the papers over to me. There’s the sneak attack. I don’t bother opening the stack of papers.
“What are those?”
“Contracts. You’re going to be in five videos when you come stay with me.”
“What if I don’t want to sign them?”
My mom shrugs. “I don’t know. Your dad wants you in even more videos, so your best bet is staying with me.”
They agreed I wouldn’t have to be in any more videos and now that they’re getting divorced, they’re holding me hostage.
I have a “choice”. I always have a “choice”, but I’m not going to have a place to stay for Christmas after all those months away from home if I don’t agree to be in my mom’s embarrassing videos. This can’t be happening.
“What if I don’t want to sign anything?”
“Girl, then sleep on the damn streets,” she snaps. “I need those by the end of your semester. Think it over.”
I barely talk to her the rest of dinner foolishly thinking she’ll realize that I’m mad. She doesn’t. She drops me off at my dorm after complaining about her trip to London after this that she has to vlog and then she complains a little more about her pending transatlantic flight back home.
“Great dance!” she says after dropping me off. That’s the only mention of the recital I slaved all semester over.
Great talk mom.
I walk into my bedroom and turn the lights on.
“JESUS CHRIST! What are you doing in here?”
It’s him… because of course it’s him. I have the stack of papers from my mom rolled up in my hand, so I begin whacking him like crazy because we’ve had this conversation about sneaking into my room before.
“OUCH! Clover!”
I don’t care… I just keep hitting him because I’m angry and he’s there and I just fucking hate everything.
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