Page 29 of Uproot

And when his lips pressed against my cheek, I thought my body was going to combust. I could only keep imagining all day yesterday what it would be like to have those tempting lips exploring other parts of my skin.

I get up and go through my usual morning routine, making my rolled oats with fresh fruit, and then my green tea to take with me to the classroom.

The weather is promising to be another warm and sunny day, so I pick out a nice pink and gold ruffled dress, and get out some pretty flats to match it. I take off my bonnet and run some jojoba oil through my curls, deciding to wear them loose today instead of brushing them up into a bun.

I never bother with makeup other than just some lip gloss, so getting ready doesn't take me very long. I’m grabbing my keys to head out of the door when my phone rings in my bag. I quickly find it and stare at the name debating whether to answer.

Bianca Video Call

I sigh and swipe the bottom of my phone to answer, leaning against the wall in my hallway.

My mother's face comes onto my screen and I look into her brown eyes that are identical to mine. At 38 years old I shouldn’t still get nervous like a teenager who has failed a test every time I see her, or hear her voice, but here I am with my stomach sinking to my flats.

“Selah! Where have you been? It’s been almost two weeks since you called me. Cary and I were about to drive up there and see if you were ok!” My mother exclaims, her voice and face showing matching disapproval.

“I’ve just been very busy, mother. It’s the end of the school year,” I respond.

It’s not a complete lie. The end of the school yearisvery busy for me, and with everything going on with Edison, the last thing on my mind was speaking to my mother.

She’s not exactly someone I confide in when I’m stressed out, because she just makes things worse. I’ve been keeping my thoughts between me and my close girlfriends who have been more than helpful with giving me advice, and a shoulder to lean on.

My mother twists her mouth, “Well even so, you can take five minutes to let us know that you’re ok instead of keeping us worried,” she continues to scold.

Somehow I doubt my stepfather, Cary, was concerned about me at all, but I nod and force a smile on my face. “Well I will do that next time mother. I’m on my way to school actually right now and-“

“Have you been sticking to your diet, hunny? Your face is looking a bit fuller than the last time we spoke,” she interrupts, eyeing me curiously.

I frown looking at myself on my phone without thinking.

I told myself not to care about her opinion, or comments about my weight, but it’s hard to do that when she’s always freely giving them.

Even at 7am.

“I’m still doing my regular diet mother, yes,” I answer.

She sighs, pushing her long black extensions over her shoulder. My mother has never been able to relate to my struggles with weight. She has always been taller and lanky, while I received my father’s shorter, and fuller genetics.

She’s been on me since I was a pre-teen about sticking to a diet and not letting myself get overweight. It led to me having a lot of issues with food, and even so she praised me for losing the weight and keeping it off. Even though I'm sure I'll never be her ideal for what she pictured for her only biological daughter.

Since I've moved away from her, I try not to obsess over the scale as much. I know I am at a healthy, good weight, but there are still her opinions nagging at me even when I don’t speak to her.

Every time I try on a swimsuit, or have a day where I indulge in too many sweets, I can just hear her voice from when I was younger telling me, “You’llnever get a boyfriendif you don't watch your calories”.

“Hmm," she finally responds. You just need a little extra cardio then. I’ll send you some of the new videos I’ve been doing from YouTube,” she says, making it clear that it’s not a suggestion.

“Sure mother. I have to go. Take care,” I say, quickly ending the call.

I stand in my hallway for a moment, swallowing down the bitter taste in my mouth from our conversation.

“Don’t you cry because of that woman. We don’t let her get to us anymore,” I whisper quietly to myself. My hands are shaking as I put my phone away, and take a calming breath before heading out of the door.

I get to school fifteen minutes later and start setting up my classroom. I restock the centers for morning play time and check the lesson plans I have for this morning, making sure I have the books that I need.

Slowly my students start to trickle in through the door, greeting me and heading over to hang up their things. I’m just setting out some more magna-tiles when I see Beckett come in holding Edison’s hand.

He's balancing a paper bag and a to go coffee cup in his other hand that I recognize from Coco’s Café. He looks around and spots me and I straighten my dress, unable to stop my enthusiasm from showing on my face.

“Good morning Ms. Selah!” Edison chirps, hurrying over to give me a hug.

---