poor life choices. Not when I had my own poor life choices to contend with.
“Are you sure you’re comfortable?”
How could I be comfortable knowing Frank was all alone on the commute from his new condo? He got the other, older Volvo, the one they hardly ever drove and had kept in our garage as a backup. From that point forward, I’d think of it as Dad’s Volvo, making this Mom’s Volvo by default, which was weird because until that day, I don’t know if I’d ever seen her in the driver’s seat. Frank had always, always driven us everywhere. And Kathy had never, never objected. That’s just how it always was in our family, so I never questioned it. Just like we always entered the mall through Macy’s, and never through J. C. Penney. There’s a reason why our Mock Trial advisor taught us to avoid always and never statements in our arguments: They were so easy to prove untrue.
Frank and Kathy were always a duo, plus one. My parents always preferred the company of each other to being around me. Oh, they were supportive of my academic and extracurricular endeavors, of course. They were dependable fixtures at Odyssey of the Mind tournaments and Mock Trial courtrooms, but I can barely remember any significant one-on-one time with either parent. In fact, if I even tried to talk to one of them about literally anything—from buying breakfast cereal to applying to college—the inevitable response would be, “Let’s wait to see what your father/your mother has to say about this.” It wasn’t “we.” It was “them” and “me” until the end. Just consider the complicated coordinated effort required to separate without me even noticing. Frank and Kathy were the ultimate united front; even in their split I couldn’t fathom how either one of them would function on their own. And yet, there Mom was, half smiling, humming along to the radio.
“You don’t look comfortable,” Kathy pressed. “You’re taller than I am. You should move the seat back…”
It didn’t matter that we were just a few yards away from the pedestrian drop-off. I couldn’t stand another second of Mom trying so hard to ease her guilty conscience.
“Fine!” I barked. “I’ll move the seat!”
I reached underneath for the handle but felt something soft and crinkly instead. My parents had always demanded the Volvo be kept scrupulously—some might say pathologically—clean. So I couldn’t quite believe it when I pulled out a crumpled wax bag from Wally D’s Sweet Treat Shoppe. What. The. Hell. With this evidence of secret candy binges, Mom had not only abandoned her marriage, but the most basic principles of oral health and hygiene.
“Is something wrong?” Kathy asked, keeping her eye on the road.
I was in no condition to confront her about this. I stuffed the bag even farther under the seat and removed my hand, which was now sticky with a residue that smelled like fudge but looked like shit.
“Don’t drop me off here,” I ordered. “Keep going.”
Kathy looked confused.
“But—?”
“Drop me off at J. C. Penney. Or is that too much to ask?”
I guess Kathy decided it wasn’t. She turned the wheel and continued through the parking lot to Entrance Two without questioning me. My hand was on the door handle when she gently took my arm.
“This will get easier.”
I shrugged Mom off and got out of the car without waving or saying goodbye.
Before going inside, I consulted the mall directory to review the ever-expanding list of danger zones. Concourse B—where I stood—was the only letter that hadn’t been compromised. Not yet, anyway. The following areas were totally off-limits:
Concourse A, Upper Level (Surf*Snow*Skate)
Concourse C, Lower Level (Sears)
Concourse D, Lower Level (Food Court)
Concourse E, Upper Level (Fun Tyme Arcade)
Concourse F, Lower Level (Sam Goody)
Concourse G, Lower Level (Bellarosa Boutique)
If I were strategic and diligent, I could avoid all but the last. Even at Bellarosa, I could barricade myself in the back office if I had to.
Kathy was right, though. It would get easier.
In six weeks, I’d be packing up all my stuff and getting the hell out of Pineville. Away from my parents’ midlife marital meltdown. Troy’s ratty, rageaholic rebound. Slade’s sleazy gossip. Sam Goody’s smirky jerkiness. Sonny Sexton’s stoner imbecility. Drea’s endless drama. But until then, my life at the mall would really, really suck.
It definitely didn’t help that Drea had totally outmaneuvered me. As hard as I tried to focus on work, to update Bellarosa’s latest debits and credits, I couldn’t get her words out of my head.
Silva Mundi
-$775.25 to