Chapter One #2
I didn’t even have to look behind me to know she wasn’t following.
Even now, she was oblivious to the way I was falling apart.
All the times I had flinched when he adjusted my costume or refused to look him in the eyes, she had cheered the loudest for me.
She had been so focused on winning, on being perfect.
She never saw it, or maybe she just didn’t want to see.
Just like now, she never really looked at me.
Never really saw me. I wasn’t about to stand in some overly pretentious store with her and pretend everything was ok. Not anymore.
I was so lost in thought, marching towards the car with my head down, that I didn’t even hear the motorcycles flying through the parking lot.
At the last second, I heard the tires squeal on the pavement and jumped to the side.
The rider managed to control his bike despite the abrupt stop, and three other bikes pulled up next to his.
I let loose a string of Italian curses I had learned from an exchange student we had hosted a couple of years ago and spun towards the idiot.
“Oh, I’m sorry! I must have missed the part where the parking lot became a racetrack!
” I glared at him because it was definitely a him based on the way he filled out his jacket, and I only got angrier when he pulled off his helmet and saw that not only was the ass-hat good looking, but he was laughing.
“Geez, princess, too busy planning your next party to pay attention?”
Now, usually, I would walk away. The old me would’ve.
A flippant toss of hair, rolling eyes, and a decided sway to my hips to make sure he was watching.
The new me? The new me had just walked away from picking a fight with her mother and was ready to rip him a new one.
“Princess?” I seethed, “Fine. If you want to play the nickname game, I can do that. How about…pool boy? No, that joke may go over your head. Oh, I know! Idiotic man-child with small dick syndrome! Or is that too long for you?” I batted my eyes at him.
For a minute, the four guys across from me just stared. Then one of them, a tall blonde, burst out laughing. “Oh fuck, Jackson. She’s reading you dead to rights.”
Jackson, the idiot in question, glared at his friend. “Shut up, Dalton.” Dalton was not the least bit fazed and made a show of wiping a tear from his eye.
Jackson turned back to me and took a step closer. “What the hell is your deal?”
I scoffed, “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe tread marks just don’t go with my aesthetic.” Dalton snorted another laugh, but another glare from Jackson had him quiet.
“Maybe watch where you’re walking? You don’t own the town, princess.” His tone was biting, his gray eyes cold.
I gestured to the pavement. “I was walking in the walkway. What part of the walkway did you not get?” Jackson opened his mouth to say something, but another one of his friends stepped forward.
This guy had blue eyes like Dalton’s, and they looked similar enough that they could’ve been brothers, but his hair was dark and he was at least a year or two older.
He put a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “Come on, man. Let’s go. No harm, no foul.”
Jackson looked like he wanted to argue, but instead said, “Yeah, sure, Mac. This chick ain’t worth my time.” I flipped him off as they got back on their bikes and rode away.
When I climbed into the car to wait for my mom, I braced for the inevitable feelings that being alone somewhere quiet would bring.
Oddly enough, I had started to welcome them.
At least they were something, compared to the usual emptiness.
But this time, they didn’t come. I thought about Jackson and his friends, how he met me tit for tat instead of tiptoeing around me.
I could appreciate that. I was so tired of being handled like I was going to break, like I wasn’t already broken.
That little argument had felt like therapy.
I should know I had been to plenty of sessions.
Except, somehow, my mind wasn’t replaying every word looking for landmines. There was no spiral, no shame, no script I needed to rewrite. Just… quiet. Because someone had actually pushed back instead of treating me like a fractured, porcelain doll. Pretty and delicate, and in need of repairs.
About thirty minutes later, my mom appeared out of the store.
“That girl was so nice! She helped me pick out a bunch of things and even arranged for it all to be delivered. Must be those Southern manners I hear so much about.” She hummed a tune under her breath, reaching for the radio.
“Where should we go for dinner? Your dad said he was going to be a bit longer at the hospital.”
I sighed, resisting the urge to get out of the car and just run.
She wasn’t just dismissing our earlier spat.
She was acting as if it hadn’t even happened.
It was so typical of her, I really should have been used to it by now, instead of the disappointment creeping through my chest. I wanted her to see me, to speak to me, not at me.
But I just said. “Whatever’s good, Mom.”
Mom wanted to “get a taste for local cuisine,” so we found ourselves at a little rinky-dink spot called Laverne’s.
The booths were all faded, the tables stained, and the floor was kind of sticky.
When we walked in, she made a face like she was fixing to tuck tail and find somewhere else.
But a big, loud woman hollered from somewhere in the back, “Hiya, folks! Be right with ya!”
Mom grimaced at me. “I guess we just seat ourselves?” She took approximately ten years picking a booth in the mostly empty restaurant.
My guess? She was trying to find the cleanest one.
Finally, we slid into a booth covered with local advertisements, and I tried to fight back a smile at the sight of my uppity mother clutching her purse in front of her like a shield.
A few minutes later, the lady came over and greeted us with a wide smile that showed off a couple of missing teeth, her brown eyes warm and friendly yet incredibly sharp.
She was wearing a rather hideous, cheap tracksuit, a giant fake diamond pendant, and her wig looked like two balls of yarn had gotten into a fight with a curling iron.
I instantly liked her. My mom looked at her with what could be described as wide-eyed horror.
She handed us two menus, which, unsurprisingly, were faded and old.
“Welcome to Laverne’s, y’all. I haven’t seen you around before! I’m Momma Laverne, though everyone just calls me Momma. What can I do for ya today? My chicken fried steak is on special, if you’re feeling hungry.”
My mother was still staring at Momma Laverne like she wasn’t sure if the woman was even real. Momma Laverne, for her part, didn’t seem to mind in the least. She had the kind of energy that said, “Go on and stare. I’m a lot to take in, and I’m ok with that. Love me or leave me.”
I glanced between her and my mother for a minute then cleared my throat, “Umm, yeah, actually. We just moved from California. Mom wanted to find a spot for authentic Southern food. I googled it and found this place.”
Had I noticed how worn down the place looked in the Google pictures?
Absolutely. Had I mentioned it to my mother?
Definitely not. And her reaction was even better than I could’ve imagined.
“I will happily take your chicken fried steak.” I was genuinely confused on how chicken and steak could be in the same sentence, or how you were supposed to fry a steak.
But it couldn’t be that bad if it was on special… I hoped.
Momma Laverne switched her attention to me. “And what sides would you like with that, honey?”
I blinked at her. “The usual?” Her laugh was as big and loud as she was, and my mom jolted like she had been physically shocked.
The woman winked at me, “The usual. You got it, honey.” I suddenly wondered what I had gotten myself into.
My mom finally found her voice, “Could I please have a cobb salad, with kale?”
Laverne tilted her head, “Doll, the closest thing I have to kale is collards, and I can promise you that won’t taste good in a salad. How about romaine?”
My mom looked at me like she wanted to make sure I wasn’t recording this as an elaborate joke.
I grinned at her, and she chirped back, “Sure!” Laverne turned back towards her kitchen, hollering that she would have someone bring over drinks.
My mom looked at me again, “But she didn’t even ask what we wanted to drink? ”
I shrugged at her and looked towards the rest of the restaurant, taking everything in.
There were old records nailed to the wall, a broken guitar hung up over a frayed and yellowed picture of a band, and newspaper clippings all over the place.
I couldn’t smell much over the cloud of slightly overwhelming floral perfume Laverne had left behind, but, looking at the chipped flooring that can’t have seen a mop since before I was born, maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.
God, I hoped my attempt to give my mother a heart attack didn’t end up killing us both with salmonella or some crap.
A girl about my age made her way over to us with a tray of drinks, and when she stopped at our table, my mom told her she had the wrong one, because no way that was all for us.
The girl shook her head. “Nope, Momma said you guys wanted the real Southern experience. Welcome to Atlanta, by the way. I’m Maria. ”
Maria set down two glasses of water and two glasses of a brown liquid, plus a little sugar caddy.
My mom eyed it distrustfully. Maria was wearing a jacket despite the summer heat.
I was dying in my sweatshirt, but my mom had told me that it wasn’t necessary as we left the house, and now, I was going to keep the thing on even if I melted.