Page 25 of Becoming Us
Holly was the only person I’d ever told about that part of myself. Not because I was ashamed. It was just that my mom was a little too Catholic to handle it, and I didn’t want to make it into some big thing. I didn’t need the whole family lighting candles for my soul like I was some kind of lost cause.
I got home at eight.
My dad was in his office, talking on the phone loudly. Not mad—just his usual volume. I spotted my mom in the kitchen and peeked my head inside.
She glanced up.
Hmm.
Brows knitted, nostrils flaring. She was in a mood. Great.
Still, I had to get this over with. Holly had already texted me three times about the damn thing.
Leaning against the counter, I cleared my throat. “Mom, hey.”
“How was the shoot?” Her voice was clipped and cold.
“Good. Long. I’ve got homework to catch up on now.”
“Can you believe how fucking impolite they were?” She rolled her eyes for emphasis.
I sighed. “Who?”
“The producers. They didn’t even give me special seating for the shoot. I couldn’t stay there.” The heavy gold bracelets on her wrist clicked as she waved a hand through the air.
“Oh, right. It was kind of mid anyway,” I offered, making it sound like I was on her side.
“It wasn’t like that when I was behind the camera, that’s for sure.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, already bracing myself. “Mom, remember the seats for the charity gala? The form’s due tomorrow. They just need your signature and a check.”
She looked away. “I’ll give it to you on Monday.”
My stomach sank. That wouldn’t work.
“Why?”
She rolled her eyes again. “Always with the why. Why can’t you just accept what I say and stop arguing?”
A little harsh—but not unexpected.
“Because I asked you two weeks ago. Everyone’s parents are going. This isn’t me bugging you—it’s a school function, and there’s a deadline.” I tried my best to keep calm, to keep my tone unthreatening.
“The school can wait.” And she started walking away. Fuck.
“No, Mom, the school can’t wait. That’s why it’s called a deadline. Are you actually going to come? You said you were going to,” I pressed, knowing I was probably pushing too hard. But it was one night. One night. And it was a dress-up event—she usually lived for those.
“I’m busy, Noah.”
“Busy to sign a form?”
“To sign a form, to write a check—I said I’m busy. I’ll give it to you Monday.” Her tone sharpened with every word. She didn’t even look back. Just marched to her room and slammed the door. Like a fucking child.
Disappointment roiled through me, morphing into anger.
I knew I shouldn’t, but the words flew out before I could stop them. “Just because you’re not looking at me doesn’t mean Idisappear into thin air. I need the fucking form, Mom. I need it by tomorrow morning.”
Silence.
