9. Katie
“Up now,”My mom nudges my legs the next morning.
I roll over in my bed and pull the covers above my head. I’d rather go back to sleep where I don’t have to think about Michael or last night or how incredible I felt for a couple of hours. Like I could actually be wanted by someone.
But it was all a silly dream. I was Cinderella for a night then it was over.
There’s the sound of my curtains being yanked open then my blanket is stripped from me. The sudden light is blinding.
I try to grab for my comforter, but my mom steps out of my reach.
She says in a sing-song voice, “We’re going shopping today.”
“I’m not in the mood.” After my conversation with her, I came into my room and spent most of the night crying into my pillow. Now my head feels heavy and my eyelids are puffier than marshmallows.
“You don’t need to sit around and mope over a man,” she tells me. “The best thing for a broken heart is retail therapy.”
Finally, I realize what this is. She’s trying to cheer me up in her own clueless way. “I’ll go on one condition. I’m getting a milkshake and I don’t want to hear about the calories in it.”
She makes a motion like she’s locking her lips.
After I put on a cute red swing dress and some makeup, we head to one of my mom’s favorite clothing stores. We’re not able to shop in the same places, but I tell myself it’s the thought that counts.
I search absently through the racks, more to appease my mom than because I actually care. Besides, none of this stuff comes in my size. It’s designed for women who didn’t have a triple chocolate milkshake with a double order of fries on their way here.
“See this one?” Mom does a twirl when she steps out of the dressing room in a green-sequined dress.
“It’s cute.” I can’t manage to put the usual amount of fake enthusiasm in my voice.
“It perfectly hugs my body,” she announces as she struts on some catwalk that exists only in her mind. Her career tanked after the two movies she was slated to star in were shut down due to production issues. She’s been chasing the fame of her teens and twenties ever since.
She pauses in front of the mirror, pushing out her hip and resting a hand on it. “You share my genetics you know.”
Not this conversation again.I share her genetics so according to my mom, I could be just as rail thin “if I’d only put down those cheeseburgers”.
To avoid this lecture, I pretend I’ve spotted a nice dress in another part of the store and quickly stride in a new direction.
But my reprieve doesn’t last for long. Mom joins me, still prancing around in the sequin dress.
She nods to the purple lacy dress that I’m holding. I couldn’t even dream of squeezing one thigh into the pencil thin garment. Still, it’s beautiful and I’d love to find it in my size.
Mom sighs as if she’s disappointed. “This is the sort of thing a pretty girl would wear.”
I blink and look at her, certain I’ve misheard. “A pretty girl?”
“Don’t act like that. You could be one of them if you tried hard enough.” She runs her fingers along the frilly material of the dress. “He probably would have liked you better if you were pretty.”
A pretty girl.
I get it now.
The exact opposite of me.
I hang the dress on the rack and tell Mom I have a headache and need to leave. I’ve never been more thankful that I insisted on bringing my car.
“Probably something in the milkshake,” she accuses then digs her phone from her purse. “I’ll just text Chelsey and see if she wants to meet me for more shopping.”
“You do that,” I mutter under my breath as I leave her.
A pretty girl.The phrase hammers at me. I’ve never thought I was model-beautiful. But I figured I was pretty in my own way.
Mom stays out shopping for the rest of the day and it’s the best thing she can do for me. I get tired of feeling bruised after every conversation with her.
I keep reaching for my laptop, wanting to distract myself from the pain in my heart. But the only series I’m working on is the one with Michael. I can’t even bring myself to turn on my cellphone to see if he’s left me any messages.
Instead, I watch a collection of romantic comedies and lose myself in worlds where the heroines have small problems and love always prevails. If only it could be that way in real life.
On Monday, I turn my cellphone on.
There are sixteen missed calls from Michael but no messages. I stare at the missed call notification before I call in sick, leaving a message with Lacey.
I do the same thing on Tuesday even though there are another twenty missed calls from Michael.
When I open my publishing account on Wednesday morning, I have an epiphany. I don’t need a job anymore.
I knew I was making a lot of money from publishing my naughty stories, but I never did the math. I earn enough in royalties that I don’t have to work my job anymore.
The income level thrills me. But the thought of never seeing Michael doesn’t.
Still, maybe this is what my heart needs. A chance to be away from him, space to heal without being next to him every day.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I draft a resignation email and send it to the director of human resources at Alpha Defense.
After that, I look through Lacey’s notes on the latest installment. I finish the edits quickly and put it up for sale.
Then I make another hard decision. The choice to finally end Kitty and Michael’s story. I’ll give them a big happily ever after for the sake of my readers.
After that, I’ll start a new series. Something that doesn’t make me ache when I think about it, something that doesn’t feature the man who broke my heart.
I’ve just started work on the final installment when my mom comes into my room.
She wrinkles her nose when she sees the leftover Chinese food next to me. Admittedly, it’s a poor breakfast decision.
“Are you back to working on your little stories again?”
“Yes, Mom.”
The word makes her flinch. I guess she’s not the only one who knows how to throw stones.
“I had hoped this time of self-reflection would lead to some real changes.”
My hands still on the keyboard. I shut my laptop and look up, tired of this painful dance we always do. “And what do I need to change?”
She gives me a look as if she doesn’t know where to start. “People would like you if you’d only lose some weight and stop dressing weirdly.”
I take a deep breath as anger fills me and for the first time in a conversation with her, I don’t push it down. “I like my curves and I like the way I dress.”
“Brent didn’t. He told me he only stayed with you because he felt sorry for you. He and I used to laugh about how pathetic you are.”
I blink but the tears come anyway. “Why would you say that?”
“What?” She shrugs a shoulder. “I only tell you these things because I’m your mother and I care.”
“You don’t care!” The three words are ripped from my throat. “Do you know how much it hurt me when you slept with him? Do you know how I felt when I saw that my boyfriend wanted my mom over me?”
“And I thought it would wake you up!” She insists. “I thought you’d start making better choices with your life, but you’re still such an embarrassment.”
I laugh at the word despite the tears rolling down my cheeks. It’s strange but I feel a sense of relief now that she’s finally admitted it.
“You’re not the only one who’s embarrassed. I had to grow up as Stella Hunter’s daughter. All the boys thought I was easy just because my mom would flash her tits at any photographer who showed her some attention.”
I stand from the bed and grab my laptop, holding it against my chest. “And I just realized I don’t want to be your daughter anymore.”
Just like that, I walk out of the apartment and leave my old life behind. I don’t have a clue what to do next, but I know that today, a new Katie Hunter was born. And she’s a fuckin’ bad ass.