pulling it closed a little harder than necessary.
Grace screwed her eyes shut tight and held back the frustrated yell she wanted so badly to let loose. How could her mother just waltz in and pretend like the last fifteen years didn’t happen? Oh no, it happened. Just not how I remember it, she thought. She threw her covers back with a sharp swipe of her arm and stormed into the bathroom to splash some water on her face, hoping it would calm her down. Once she’d turned the cold tap on full, she leaned over, plunged her cupped hands under the faucet, and threw the cold water on her skin.
“Ahhh!” Grace yelled, as much from the shock as from anger, then picked up a towel to scrub at her face as her mind tallied justification for the resentment bombarding it. It was all too easy to conjure images of the shock that would engulf her mother if she woke to find Grace gone. And even easier to imagine the tears that would follow as the vulture of guilt ate at the carcass of her mother’s Graceless life. Then her mother would see things her way, and feel nothing but remorse.
Who was she kidding? Her mother would probably just be relieved if she ever left, and thank her. Funny how guilt works. One would think it would be symmetrical, everyone feeling it equally. Grace had learned it was usually one-sided, and Laney was too narcissistic to be affected by sensibility. In this respect, Grace wished she was more like her mother. The words she’d thrown at Laney were purposely hurtful. Even though she didn’t regret them at the moment, Grace knew she would soon. The iniquity of her verbal transgression would haunt her until she yielded to it.
Which is when she’d deal with it.
She grabbed her cell off her nightstand, got back into bed, and shot off a text to Quentin.
Grace: Howz ur head frm the awsum tunes?
According to the time on her cell, it was ten after midnight. She stared at the screen, hoping he wasn’t sleeping. Seconds later, it buzzed.
Quentin: Great. How are you?
Grace: My headache isn’t frm the music :(
Since he didn’t text back again right away, she suddenly hoped she wasn’t bothering him—waking him, interrupting him, annoying him.
Quentin: What’s wrong?
Grace: Fighting with the mom is all. Fun times.
Quentin: Sorry. Is it because you were out late?
Grace: No. Long story.
Quentin: I’m all ears.
Quentin was a lot of things, but all ears wasn’t one of them. Tee-hee, she giggled silently.
Damn, she thought. I really am losing it.
Grace: Im 2 angry 2 sleep.
Quentin: Wish there was something I could do to help.
Grace: U answered my txt.
Quentin: Can I call you?
For a moment, she just stared at the phone. His question made her stomach do flip-flops. She was still stewing a little, but at least her heart wasn’t trying to pound out of her chest from mad adrenalin.
Grace: Yes.
It only took three seconds for her cell to ring.
“Hello.”
“Hi there.”
“Were you sleeping?”
“Yeah,” he said. “But sleep is overrated.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “You want to talk about it?”
Did she? She wasn’t sure. Talk? Yes, but about it? She didn’t think so. “That’s not a today conversation.” Grace smiled, wondering if he’d remember his own words.
The lighthearted chuckle in her ear made her smile. “Very good, grasshoppa. You’ve been paying attention.” His retort made her giggle.
“Seriously,” she said, her laughter calming. “Were you really sleeping?”
“Yes, but it’s not a big deal. Do you want to talk about why you and your mom were fighting?”
Grace settled back into her pillow and pulled her covers up under her arms. “Maybe another time. Not tonight. I just want to think about something else so I can sleep.” Absentmindedly, she slid her fingers along the silky edge of her blanket.
“I understand,” he said, and didn’t bring her mom back up again. Instead, he chatted with her about everything and nothing at all, until they were both unable to complete a sentence without yawning.
“You sound tired.” Quentin breathed another yawn. “You should try to sleep. You have a busy day tomorrow.”
She continued tapping each finger on her right hand with her thumb, hoping it would help her stay awake. “Okay, I can probably sleep now.”
“My cell will be next to me if you need to talk again.”
“Thanks, Quentin. Wish me luck.”
“Luck.”
“G’night.”
“Sweet dreams, Grace.”
She set her phone aside, wondering if it was habit for him to sleep with his phone. He probably said that because