Page 15 of Enemy Crush
“I told you times are tough. I’m managing the salon now.”
It was hard to contain my bewilderment. “But I thought that was just temporary. Till you hired someone else.”
“I can’t afford to hire a manager, Quinn. What part about being broke don’t you understand?” Mom’s voice rose a decibel and she took her eyes off of the road to glare at me and suddenly we were veering toward the Trask’s garbage bin. With a quick reaction, she steered the wheel sharply and braked, but bumped the bin and knocked it over.
Mr. Trask, working in his garage, came racing out to the shoulder. Mom suddenly accelerated with a squeal and sped off down our driveway, muttering to herself. In the side view mirror I could see Mr. Trask in his fluorescent coveralls, inspecting his trash bin.
“Mom, what was that?” I said, trying to catch my breath, the last thirty seconds like a whirlwind. “You crashed their trash bin!”
“It’s just a trash bin. I barely hit it,” she said defensively.
By the time I gathered my bags, Mom was at the front door picking up a package.
“What’s this?” She held the carton up which was addressed to me.
“Oh, good! It’s my new Squishmallow,” I said, “I’ve been waiting for that.”
Mom’s eyes flashed as if I’d just admitted to purchasing a new Chonel handbag and not a purple elephant for $35. An extra cute one at that.
“Haven’t you heard a word I said?” She shoved the front door open and threw the carton toward the base of the stairs. “We’re broke! We can’t afford frivolous things like stupid soft toys.”
I rushed to pick it up, my hands trembling at Mom’s outburst. “They’re Squishmallows,” I said in a tiny voice, “they’re not stupid.”
Mom exhaled a lungful of air and rolled her eyes, her tone full of disgust. “You’re nearly eighteen, Quinny. I think it’s time you grew up.”
It felt like a knife to my heart, an attack on me. And she rarely called me Quinny, usually in exasperation. Dad had given me my first Squishmallow. He’d come back from one of his business trips with a soft and squishy purple owl. At that time, purple was my favorite color and I was going through an owl collecting phase. I didn’t intentionally set out to start a collection, but I’d been given more as gifts, and then as cuter ones came out I wanted those too, and suddenly my bed was covered in them.
Squishmallows were more than just a collectible to me now. In the last few months, Squishmallows had been there for me, big ones on my bed to comfort and squeeze, and miniature ones could attach to my bags and go with me everywhere.
When I was little, I carried a blanket with me everywhere. It was soft and pink and Janette, the nanny, cut it into small pieces so that if I lost one, there was always another. Apparently, I cried and cried if I didn’t have my ‘blankie.’ I remembered carrying it right up until I started kindergarten. Then I tucked it into thebottom of my schoolbag. Of course, the blankie was long gone now, but a small Squishmallow attached to my bag was similar, a little bit of familiarity, I guess. Plus, they were the cutest.
I dumped my backpack in the entranceway and snatched up my carton and dashed upstairs, tears pricking at my eyes. That was crazy in itself, and I wasn’t sure why I was on the verge of crying.
Or maybe I did. Because basically my life had imploded—not only had my parents split up, but I’d been pulled out of my school, separated from my friends, and was now forced to spend senior year at a new school with strangers. Plus, we had no money and buying one measly Squishmallow was apparently a crime.
Opening my parcel brought a moment of real joy—squishing my soft new toy to my chest, I breathed in its fresh new smell. But the pleasure passed quickly and it struck me that Mom might be right. What if I did need to grow up?
I was 17, a high school senior and crying and cuddling a soft toy wasn’t normal, was it? In a year’s time, I’d be on my way to college. I couldn’t arrive with a suitcase full of Squishmallows.
“I didn’t mean to shout.”
Mom’s voice made me jump and I quickly wiped my eyes before placing Anjali the Elephant down on the bed. Mom stood in the doorway, and though her tone had sounded vaguely apologetic, her stance was full-on fierce, her hands firmly on her hips.
“I’ll send it back and get a refund,“ I sniffed.
“Don’t worry about it,” Mom muttered with a frustrated shake of her head as if my tears were an embarrassment. “Quinn,” she said, softer now, “I’m not joking when I say we’re broke.”
A lump formed in my throat as I choked back another wave of emotion. “Define broke,” I whispered, though already it wasdawning on me that I’d underestimated the severity of our situation. If a Squishmallow had potentially broken the bank, it was graver than I imagined. Much graver. “Does it mean you’re not buying me another car? Like, not even ausedone?”
Mom slumped her shoulders and came inside my room, sitting on the end of my bed. She picked up Anjali and squeezed it, a ghost of a smile tracing across her Chonel red lips, almost like she thought it was cute. But she promptly returned it to the bed and said, “I’m afraid not.”
“You’re really making me ride the bus for the whole of senior year?” The thought was horribly depressing.
Mom grimaced as if she hated that for me too, but her eyes wandered across to my shelves where my Squishmallows were lined up by color scheme. She drew in a shaky inhale. “We’re not quite at ramen noodles every night, but we do have to be extra careful.” She wrung her hands together and I noticed her usual long manicured nails were short and clear. “I’ve had to let the cleaner and the gardener go. You and me will have to share the chores from now on. We can’t be buying new clothes or shoes or bags or...” She picked up Anjali again. “Or Squish toys. I simply can’t afford to give you an allowance anymore.”
My heart dropped like a sinking stone. And I gasped. “No allowance? How am I going to survive? What if I need stuff?”
“I’ll pay for your school things. But Quinn, we have to tighten our belts.” She’d exhausted her soft and compassionate tone and was back to reprimanding me like a drill sergeant. “You can’t just go spending money like water. Look around your room. You have everything you need. Enough clothes and makeup and jewelery and shoes. You don’t need anything new.”
