Still not into you - Charlotte Byrd Page 0,55
but in New York, I don’t wear them with shorts and spaghetti straps. No, there, these boots are my go-to boots and they’re often not even that particularly warm.
After completely depressing myself, I decide to take a shower. I put on some Miley Cyrus. I’ve decided to quit Adele cold turkey because her lyrics and songs were doing nothing good for improving my mood. I need to listen to happier music, I decided on the plane here. For a whole week, I was happy with Miley and Meghan Trainor. Now that I’m going back somewhere I’m dreading, my heart yearns for Adele.
No, I say to myself silently in the mirror. When you’re starting to feel down, that’s exactly when you need to avoid the things that only bring on more clouds. I skim through my phone for some other music.
Ah!
“Hips Don’t Lie” by Shakira.
An oldie, but a goodie. It’s upbeat and fun. Exactly what I need. I turn up the music and climb into the shower.
When I lather up my hair, I hear a knock at the door.
“Yeah?” I yell out over the music.
“Hey, honey? I can’t find my phone anywhere,” my mom says, opening the door. “Have you seen it?”
“No,” I say. My mom is always losing her phone. Honestly, not a week goes by that she doesn’t call me on my dad’s phone, completely frazzled by the fact that, this time, she had finally done it, lost it for good.
“Well, I can’t find it anywhere,” she says. “Would you mind if I used yours? I just have to call your dad about something.”
“Sure.”
My mom leaves and takes my music with her, but the good mood that the beginning of the song put me in doesn’t wear off. I close my eyes and let the hot water run over my face and body. Light streams in through the window. I love the way its warm rays feel on my eyelids. When I open eyes, I’m greeted by a curious blue jay investigating me from the windowsill. I want to wave to her, but I don’t want to scare her, so instead, I just admire the way her feathers dance in the breeze.
Then, right here and now, as I’m watching the blue jay cock her head from side to side inquisitively, for absolutely no reason, something occurs to me.
Oh. My. God.
Noooooooooo!
I turn off the shower and wrap a towel around myself. I don’t secure it well and it falls down right before I reach the door. I have to scramble to get it up over my breasts. My hair is completely soaked and water from it runs down my shoulders. My feet leave little puddles on the hardwood floors.
I look into each bedroom that I pass, looking for my mom. Maybe she didn’t see it. Maybe she just called my dad and that was it. Please, please, please let that be it. My heart jumps into my chest and I can’t take a full breath. I try to slow down my breathing, breathe through my stomach like I had learned at yoga, but I’m freaking out. Nothing’s working. Where the hell is she?
Finally, I get to my parents’ bedroom. Unlike all the other doors, the door to this one is closed. I open it quietly, but don’t bother knocking. I walk in and see my mother sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone. Her shoulders are slumped. Her hair is dangling lifelessly in her face. She’s completely motionless. She looks like she has seen a ghost or found out that her daughter not only got married without telling her, but is also now getting divorced.
Shit.
I know right away that it’s too late. She has read my text messages, but I think that maybe she hasn’t heard me. So, I try to tiptoe out of the room. Please, don’t hear me. Please, please, please.
“Alice,” my mom says quietly. She has a stern tone in her voice, very much unlike her usual tone.
“Hey,” I whisper. My mouth is completely dry. I cough a little.
“What is this?” she asks, turning to face me.
Her back straightens out and her chin flies into the air. She’s no longer sad. Now, she’s angry.
“What?” I ask. Even though I know exactly what she’s looking at. I don’t know what it is about me, but I have this tendency to deny when I’m put on the spot.
“These text messages,” she says, shaking my phone in her extended hand, “from Dylan.”
I shake my head. I