Page 11 of The Pursuit of Happiness

The conviction on both of their faces makes me feel better only slightly. I give them a weak and very exhausted smile, “Thank you.”

“You should be thankingme. I’m the one that has to come up with a way to fix this disaster,” Selene frowns further, a crease forming between her thick brows.

The look I give her must be telling as she drops her nagging and takes a deep breath. “I’m going to make a phone call and see if I can get a private doctor to come here and test you for drugs,” she says before striding out of the room.

Only when the sound of her heels clicking on my tiled floors disappears does Brody ask, “R, do you feel in your gut that he’s responsible for this?” I know she’s talking about Slater.

I think about my answer carefully and rub my face with my hands exhaustedly, “I don’t know. The guy that I met last night was so sweet and kind, but I’m wondering if that was all a trick to gain my trust and screw me over, literally and figuratively.” I sigh as I meet her eyes, “All the signs point in his direction.”

Ivory shakes her head, “I met him last night too. I didn’t think he had that in him.”

“Maybe he’s just a really good actor,” I contradict.

Brody starts to walk in circles and I know it’s because she’s stressed. “Either way, Dallas and Harvey will figure it out and everything will be fine.”

I want to believe her. I want to so badly, but I know there’s no going back after what happened. Not after I read what people had to say about me on social media and not after my reputationhas taken a hit like this.

As Selene makes her phone call in another room, I realize I have one of my own to make. I groan as I get up from my seat on the couch and trudge out of the room. “Where are you going?” Ivory asks, confusion in her voice.

“I have to make a call,” I explain.

“Who are you calling?” Brody asks curiously.

I complain over my shoulder as I practically drag my body out of the room, “My mother.” The silence that ensues speaks for the situation.

I make it all the way to the kitchen, internally battling my conscience. I know I have to call my mother back, but I don’t want to. My mother and I have a very strained yet unique relationship. When I was a kid, she was so bitter that my father decided to leave us and move to Russia to start a new family that she took that bitterness out on me. I don’t think it helped that he never paid a cent in child support.

When he left, she couldn’t stand the sight of me. I guess it’s because I look just like him and seeing my face reminded her of him and what he did. The truth about my childhood is that when my dad left, my mom left too. Though one quite literally moved to another country, the other retreated into herself and withdrew from me completely. The only times I ever communicated with my mother was when she was disciplining me in harsh ways for minor offenses. I often viewed her as a monster, my enemy rather than my mother and what was worse? It was just her and I.

When I was five years old, my mother had told me hundreds of times to keep my hair out of my face and tied it into a ponytail when I was eating. I never listened, always leaving my hair down and not seeing it as a problem. It infuriated her so much, for reasons I’ll never truly understand, to the point that she snapped one day. She dragged me from the table by my hair allthe way to the bathroom where she chopped my hair off with paper scissors to teach me a lesson. The funny thing about it is that she intended for me to never leave my hair in my face again once it finally grew back, but all I took from that was that she was cruel.

That was one of her many lessons, each worse than the next. As I got older, we swept our numerous issues under the rug. With time, she softened only slightly, but I’m willing to bet her girlfriend had something to do with it. Irina and my mother have been together foryearsand my mother has focused all of her time and energy into her. She moved from California to Brooklyn, New York to be with her. Moving away may have been the best thing my mother ever did for our relationship. We get along so much better when we only have to speak on the phone a couple of times a week. That’s not to excuse what she’s done to me and all the years and years of emotional anguish, but it’s enough for now.

I lock the bathroom door behind me as I lean my hip against the white porcelain of the sink. I unlock my phone and click her name before I can think better of it, bringing my phone to my ear as it rings. By now I’m sure she’s heard about the tape and is worried. I’m so anxious about calling. We don’t usually talk about things this personal, we usually focus on the more small talk type of conversation. It’s too late to change my mind as she answers on the fourth ring, “Privet?”Hello?Her thick Russian accent greets from the other end.

“Privet, Mama,”Hello, Mom, I greet in return, my voice shaking with nerves.

My mother was born and raised in Ukraine and she met my father in Russia. I guess that makes me half Ukrainian and half Russian, but I was raised speaking Russian as my first language. I don’t have an accent when I speak in English, but my mother often switches between the two languages when she’s speaking.“Ariya, ya videl novosti! Chto proiskhodit?”Aria, I saw the news! What is going on?She worries on the other end.

I take a deep breath as my stomach churns from anxiousness. “I made a mistake,” I answer in English.

“What happened?”

“I blacked out at the club last night and when I woke up this morning, there was a sex tape leaked and the entire media at my throat,” my voice cracks but I force the tears at bay. I don’t want to cry while speaking to her, the thought makes my skin crawl. She’s not comforting or reassuring in any way and I don’t want to cross that bridge right now.

She sighs, “Oh Aria, is Selene going to fix this?”

I nod, “Yes, she’s working on it right now.”

“Khoroshiy.”Good. She says. “Are you okay?”

I lie, “I’m fine. Selene is gonna fix this mess and everything will go back to normal.” I don’t believe a single word that comes out of my own mouth. I’m just telling her everything will be fine because I don’t want her to ask me questions and make me think more than I already have. I need her to believe it’s fine even though it most certainly is not and nothing will ever be the same again. The lies taste so disgustingly sour on my tongue.

“Good, good. I am out with Irina so call me later, da?”

I feel instant relief to be hanging up the phone, “Da.”Yes.

“Khorosho, poka.”Okay, bye.She dismisses and I hang up. Normal people usually say “I love you,” to their parents or children before hanging up, but my mother and I have never been conventional. She knows that the situation runs deeper than what I said but I think she wanted to get off the phone so as not to cross the line of getting too personal. I was eager to oblige, just as desperate to hang up. We just don’t have that kind of dynamic between us where we can discuss things of this caliber.

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