Page 22 of Pictures in Blue
Inhale. Exhale.
“Hello mother,” I answer.
“Avery, where have you been?”
“Where I’ve always been,” I reply dully, throwing an arm over my face like I can shield myself from the fallout that will inevitably come from this conversation. A phone call from my mother rarely indicates anything good and my voice refuses to even try to be chipper. The flutter in my chest I felt when I thought about the possibility of hiking with Hudson subsequently died when her name came on the screen.
She has a way of making me feel bad about my actions even when they haven’t happened yet. I’m not planning on giving her the satisfaction this time.
“Don’t take that tone with me. I tried to reach you all day yesterday and you never answered.”
“I’m out of town, mother. I probably haven’t had service.” A lie. I felt my phone vibrate multiple times yesterday and without checking, I knew who it was. I have a sense when it comes to her. A sixth sense called existential dread.
When it comes to my mother, I’ve always had it. When her name lights up on the screen, my chest automatically tightens. My limbs feel heavy and the all familiar fog of depression looms over my head. My own personal rain cloud that dumps on me any chance she gets.
“Out of town? For what? Where are you? What about your job?” Her string of questions comes out in a garbled mess like an unsupervised toddler who has just drunk their weight in coffee.
“Vacation. I needed a break. I’m away for three weeks so I might continue to be hard to reach.” I close my eyes tight, knowing where she is going to take the conversation next.
“Well, don’t over indulge. Just because you’re on vacation doesn’t mean you get to or should binge every night. Your figure is important and you have to make sure that keeps or else you’ll never be able to get a man.”
I sigh, and the familiar sting of tears that make their appearance almost every time my mother calls start to fill my eyes. “Yep.”
“I’m just lookin’ out for you, Avery.”
“Mhmm,” I mutter, because it’s all I can manage.
“How much do you weigh right now? Make sure to check in and find a gym while you’re there! Sweat out the toxins. You need it if you need a break from work. Sheesh, you act like writing articles is such hard work,” she continues, bypassing the fact that I’m not even responding to any of her questions. “How hard can that be? Writing isn’t stressful.”
I shake my head feeling more miserable than I had before I left California. If Sharon is good at anything, making her daughter feel like the smallest creature on the planet is one of them. I am smaller than the people living in Whoville. Smaller than the smallest Who, nothing more than a speck.
“Listen, mother. I have a lot to do today.” Another lie. “I have to go.”
“Oh good! Get a run in! Those love handles were showing a bit the last time I saw you. Kisses!” And she hangs up.
I stare at the ceiling until I drift back into a fitful sleep to the sounds of rain pattering against the window. My dandelion careening in my mother’s storm.
A few hours later,I wake up tangled in the covers, stomach growling, demanding to be fed. Reluctantly, I untangle myself and I know before I even look in the mirror how awful I look. I can feel the puffiness in my eyes and the undersides are ringed in red color. My conversation with my mother circles over and over in my head. A vulture waiting on the perfect moment to settle on the road to pick at my dead carcass. An endless cycle of bullying. Look up narcissism in the dictionary, Sharon is right there next to it, smiling from ear to ear.
Coffee.
I need coffee and a scone to turn this day around. Caffeine is what I need to chase away the oncoming headache and the demon that is my mother. I’m not letting her ruin the rest of my day. Half the day is already lost, because I let her trigger a negative mental spiral. The outcome of too many days have been dependent on her and I have let her have too much say in how I feel. The rest of the day is not going to go that way, because I am not going to let it.
I quickly dress in the leggings I discarded on the floor after I sent Sky, who was actually Hudson, the picture of me in my boots, and an oversized gray hoodie. Tight shirts and sweaters never appealed to me. Probably because every time I did wear one, Sharon found a way to pick apart any fat that was filling out the shirt, which wasn’t really fat. But if I wasn’t stick thin, I wasn’t doing it right. What “it” was, I still have no idea.
I throw on my boots and grab my phone, but think better of it. I toss it back on the bed after turning it off. And it feels…liberating. No phone means no other phone calls today. I won’t have to worry about Sharon calling me in the middle of a peaceful moment. More importantly, before I take my first sip of coffee. With my hair up in one of my ribbons (pink today with a white chevron pattern), camera slung over my shoulder, and water bottle in hand, I step out of my room ready to block out anything that could possibly disrupt my day.
Muffled voices carry up the stairs as I take them down one at a time, a small hop to my step. On the last one, I almost collide with a very tall, very broad-chested man. I look up to see sparkling green eyes, squinting down at me.
“Going somewhere?” a deep voice wraps around my senses and I want to burrow into it and hibernate for the winter.
So much for no disruptions.
“Uh, sorry. Took the stairs too fast.” I start to make my way around Hudson before he catches my elbow gently and I turn back toward him, his warm touch scattering goosebumps up my arm. “Look, I’m in no mood to argue before I’ve had coffee, so, please let go so I can go to Fran’s and praise the ground she walks on.”
He chuckles and lets go, but abruptly stops to study my face. My red, puffy eyes doing nothing to hide the fact I spent most of the morning crying. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he says softly, taking a step back to give me space. “I’ll leave you alone, but are you okay?”
“Peachy,” I say, not bothering to look him in the eye. My headache picks this moment to throb even harder between my eyes, and I can tell if I don’t get caffeine and a round of medication, it is going to turn into a migraine fast. I turn to the front desk to see Cordie smiling between the both of us, trying to ignore the intense pounding behind my right eye.
