Page 36 of The Gathered Fragments of Us
"No, Macy. There will be no video message to that woman."
I stared at her. "What? But—why?"
Mom's eyes got wide, and her look got really sharp like a switch flipped. "Because she is not your family. She’s your father’s wife—we've talked about this before Macy."
"I know, Mom," I said quietly. "But I really l—"
"That's enough Macy. Can't you see what she's doing? She's making you feel guilty, so you'll fix her problems for her. That's not fair to you or me."
"But Mom! She didn’t ask me to do anything!" My voice cracked. "It's something I wanted to do. I feel bad, Mom. I hurt her feelings, and I didn’t mean to—"
"Macy! It breaks my heart that you care more about that woman than me. I'm your mother. I'm the one who's been here for you, doing things for you, taking care of you for your whole life." she wasn't yelling, but she wasn'tnotyelling.
I felt my face flush and I know I started to really cry. "That’s not fair."
Her eyes narrowed. "Do you want to lose your phone for the rest of the week?"
I opened my mouth to say something else, then stopped. My throat hurt. I looked down at the phone in my hand. "No," I whispered.
Jessica held out her palm. "Give it to me."
"Wait. No, Mom pl—"
"Now."
"But Mo—"
"I said hand it over! Right now!" I handed it over. My fingers were trembling. She snatched the phone from my hand, her nails scraping across my wrist. Her grip was shaky, though—hard and trembling all at once, like she didn’t realize how much pressure she was using. I watched four tiny lines appear on my skin where she’d scraped, pale at first, then turning angry pink.
She pocketed my phone, turned on her heel and walked off, leaving me standing in the kitchen with nothing but the sting of her nail marks on my wrist and the hollow echo of her footsteps fading down the hall. I stared at the polished granite countertop, my reflection a watery blur in its surface, while the refrigerator hummed in the silence like it was trying to fill the space where words should be.
I slowly went up to my room, my chest tight and tears flowing down my face. I closed my door and sat on the bed. Lying down, I turned away from my door and stared at the wall. I had never seen Mom like that before. So angry. So... mean. Sometimes I thought she seemed tired all the time, her face pale in a way that made her look older. Tonight, though, it wasn’t tired—it was like something else had taken over.
I told Dad I'd send a video. I just wanted to say I was sorry.
Now he might think I forgot.
Felicity might think I don't care.
What do I do?
Sitting there, I kept thinking. And then I remembered—the computer.
"Macy!" I heard Mom yell from across the house. I got up, too scared not to. I walked slowly to my door.
"Macy!" I heard again.
I opened my door and started toward the Den. She yelled again, and I called out, "I'm coming."
"What's taking you so long?"
When I turned the corner she exclaimed loudly, "Are you crying? Why are you crying?!"
"Because you took my phone and now I can't do the video."
"Macy. You better stop crying right now. I've had it up to here with this. Enough!"
"I'm trying. I'm sorry, Mom." I really tried to pull back my tears. The hiccups came though, and I just couldn't control it.
