being friends when you went to high school. You girls used to be so close when you were young.”
“We stopped being close because Callie stopped treating me like a human, Mom. In fact, she was pretty much a mega bitch to everyone.”
“Ava, language.”
“Oh no, don’t try to avoid this conversation by pulling the language card on me, Mommy Dearest. You just volunteered me to help Jackie the Ripper plan a high school reunion.”
“Ava!” My mother bursts into laughter at my words. “Jackie the Ripper? That’s taking it a little far, don’t you think?”
“Nope,” I respond, popping the p. “In my opinion, referring to Callie as Jack the Ripper’s nonexistent twin sister is me being nice about it.”
“Aw, honey, I’m sorry,” she finally apologizes. “I just thought it was such perfect timing since the reunion is the day after Christmas and you’re going to be in Vermont for the holidays and Kate’s wedding. And Callie seemed so interested in seeing you. I just thought maybe you girls could use this as a chance to move on from all that ugliness. I’m really sorry if I’ve upset you. I would never try to do that.”
My shoulders sag at the sincerity in my mom’s voice. Obviously, I don’t want my mom to feel bad—I just want her not to volunteer me for shit I don’t want to do.
But I’m a mere apple, right under the tree. Rose Lucie is the biggest people-pleasing woman you’ll ever meet in your whole life, and in the lottery of genetics, I won that chromosome jackpot handily.
Knowing she can’t help herself any more than I can, I raise my white flag in record-breaking time.
“It’s fine, Mom.” Honestly, it’s not fine, but I can’t not let it go. I have a best friend waiting for me next door so we can get to our Halloween party. His patience is usually pretty great, but I have to imagine it runs out at some point.
“You promise you’re not mad at me?” she asks.
“Promise, Mom,” I lie. I’m still mad. Totally mad, but I loathe making my mom feel uncomfortable. “All is forgiven.”
“Oh, thank heavens,” she mutters, and I don’t miss the way her voice softens with relief. “And, Ava?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t forget to let Callie know you’re not going to be attending.”
“Wait…what?” I question. “Why do I have to be the one to let her know? Pretty sure that’s your job.”
“What was that, honey?” she asks. “You’re breaking up. I can’t hear you.”
“Mom, I know you can hear me. You’re on your house phone.”
“Ava? Ava? Hello?”
“Mom, be serious. Your house is nowhere near any tunnels.”
“Ava, honey, I can’t hear anything you’re saying right now!” she exclaims, continuing this insane charade of making weird noises into the receiver so I think we have a bad connection. “I’ll call you later, okay? Don’t forget to let Callie know about the reunion. Love you, sweetie!”
Click. And just like that, she ends the damn call.
Fracking hell, Mom!
With a roughness I’ll likely regret later, I toss my cell down onto the kitchen island and groan so loudly, it echoes off the walls.
I didn’t need this in my life right now. Ughhh.
I pace back and forth as I mentally roll through my options.
One, I could demon-dial my mom until she agrees to fix this mess—her mess.
Two, I could just ignore it altogether but risk having to see and/or hear from Callie Camden during the two weeks I’ll be in Vermont for Christmas and Kate’s wedding.
Three, I could call her.
Or, four, I could get on Facebook, finally accept her stupid friend request that’s been sitting there for years and send her a message letting her know I won’t be helping with—or attending—the reunion.
The child in me wants to ignore it entirely and just forget this ever happened, but the adult in me knows that option four is the easiest, most responsible way to handle this circus. Obviously, I know that an even adultier decision would be to call her, you know, like a grown adult woman would do. But I am undeniably childish at heart. And nonconfrontational. And keyboard warrior-ing the shit out of this thing seems like the only option I’m willing to withstand.
Facebook app engaged on my phone, I scroll to my friend requests and locate Callie’s at the bottom of the pile. A moment later, I have a message box pulled up, and I type out a quick, succinct message.
Hey Callie,
I got the invitation in the mail for the high school reunion, and I just want to