My head was pounding. The sound of the clock ticking away in the kitchen was like a rifle being loaded, over and over, mitigated somewhat by the juddering drone of our off-white refrigerator. I took another shaky sip of water and tried to find the temerity to face my mother. She sat across the small wooden table, a grim expression on her haggard face, her hands clasped before her. Her mouth was a thin scar dashed across her jaw, and her eyes veiled by a cloud of disappointment, worry, and frustration.
"I guess my first question is why you felt you had to lie." Oof, she was swinging right out of the gates. It worked, and I felt a resounding pang of guilt as I recalled how I'd assured her I was just going to the dance for a bit with the rest of the council in as much of a capacity, and would be home by 10 or 11. I might have lied and claimed I'd always meant to be home on time, but given everything else, my appearance, my behaviour, I knew that wasn't an option. And even if I had the gall to try and pull the wool over her eyes, I lacked the energy or conviction. My stomach lurched and I swallowed thickly before trying to straighten and look at least a little composed.
"I...I don't know," I said honestly, shrugging. "I guess I thought maybe...maybe you wouldn't let me or something."
"Wouldn't let...Robin, you..." She stared at me incredulously. "You're practically a grown woman. Legally, if clearly not otherwise." Another barb. This was torture, plain and simple. It was rare to earn mum's ire and each time was memorable, for less than stellar reasons. "I can't stop you from going out with friends, enjoying your teens. What, am I going to...to ground you?" She shook her head.
I managed a sickly half smile. "I mean I guess I still kinda worry about that."
Her expression shifted, softening as she saw me again as her little girl, then hardened as she remembered the task at hand. "You want to go out and have fun, that's normal, that's what kids your age do. But I need you to be honest with me, Robin, and I need you to answer me when I try and reach you--do you know how
worried
I was-"
"I'm sorry mum," I said glumly, twisting my fingers in my hands. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes as she rubbed her temples. Another short stretch of silence as the sound of the clock signalled the inexorable march of time. She looked up, a bit more weary than before.
"And you were drinking, what, where did you get it?"
I paused for but a moment, my mind racing for the least incriminating watering down I could offer. "Uh...just some beer. Vodka. The guy throwing the party had a ton."
She studied me, her eyes flicking over my own, searching for cracks. "Any drugs?"
"Mum--no! No drugs."
"I know what marijuana smells like," she replied testily.
"I...o-okay I mean yeah, but not like...
drugs
drugs."
She bumped her fist into the table, not enough to make it shake, but enough to make her point. I flinched, and she snatched up her oversized mug of stale coffee, mostly to keep her hands busy. "You...Robin, you are so close,
so
close to graduation, why are you gambling with your future now?"
I stared at her, mouth open. I wanted to defend myself, to tell her it wasn't nearly that serious, that I was still doing well with my studies, but all I could manage was a small scoff. Her glare pierced me.
"And this guy, he have a name?"
"Y-yeah, Mike."
"Mike what?"
"Mike Tanner." I crossed my arms over my writhing belly, twisting in my seat.
"And he's who you've been texting all week?"
I blinked, feeling a whole new pit of horror widening beneath me. "No...mum, no, I told you-"
"I want the truth, Robin," she said firmly.
"And I'm telling you the truth! I didn't-I haven't been texting him, or, god, any guys!"
She stared back at me, breathing carefully through her nose, then gestured matter of factly towards me. "Then explain your neck."
I must have looked incredibly lost, and she tapped the side of her own neck. "Who gave you those?"
My eyes widened, my heart clogged my throat, and my face started to heat up. With a shaky hand I mirrored her movement, though one can't very well tell hickies from touch alone. I was screaming internally, kicking myself, trying in vain to go back in time an hour and actually look at myself in the bathroom mirror, though my careening mind couldn't possibly imagine how I could've hidden them without arousing additional suspicion. I swallowed, visibly, audibly.
"I--uhm. I..."
Mum inhaled deeply, then exhaled, shaking her head slowly, her eyes closing. I could tell this was almost as hard for her as it was for me. That almost was doing a
lot
of heavy lifting, however. When she spoke next, I'm surprised my internal shriek didn't issue forth from my mouth.
"Robin...please...just tell me you used protection."
I wanted to rip my hair out, pluck my eyes from my head, deafen myself, and burrow deep into the earth. I settled for practically hiding under my arm as I sank towards the table. "Oh god. Mum. I--I didn't, I swear, I-"
"Robin..." Her voice sounded fed up and full of reprimand.
"I didn't mum! I'm--I haven't done anything like that with any guys I promise you I...please," I finished weakly, trying to keep my voice from breaking. Oh, what hell. Waves of nausea came and ebbed, and my head still spun, making every movement feel precarious. My mouth was dry and cool water helped for but a moment, before joining a tumult in my belly that I had never felt.
Finally, mercifully, after a few long moments, I felt her give, leaning back in her seat. Tension eased out of her, but only a touch. She moved to stage 3 of the interrogation.
"Well, I know very well where you got the shoes you wore out," she began, making me lower my head again. "But that dress...I've never seen it before. I certainly don't have anything like it, and it doesn't look cheap."
"Y-yeah, like I said...Melissa let me borrow it. For the dance."
"Melissa let you borrow it." She didn't sound convinced. "That tall girl."
"Y...es."
"Robin, that dress is not her size and we both know it. If you spent your money on it--I get it, I'm not even...I understand wanting nice things."
I didn't respond, just stared down at the table, and that was...probably the biggest mistake I made. My mother has always been my first and closest friend, my biggest supporter, and the person before whom, until recently, I would lay all my hopes, dreams, fears, and worries. She could read me like a children's grammar book. I could feel her eyes on my burning face, calculating.
"But you didn't buy it, did you," she said quietly. I raised my eyes to hers, saw the way she was perusing the whole picture now. I didn't respond. I just sat there blankly, full of a childish wish for all of this to stop, to go away. To just be a bad dream. Finally, after a long, deep sigh, she leaned forward, searching my eyes. "So...Melissa bought it?"
I squirmed in my seat. Nodded meekly. She nodded back, and took a shaky sip of coffee. I saw her deliberating, considering and shooting down things to say. She opened her mouth and quickly closed it, gritting her teeth, then relaxed.
"So," she said with some finality. "Melissa." I sat, stock still. Unable to so much as fidget. Unable to reach for my dwindling glass of water despite my aching, pleading throat. "You and...and she..."
I felt it, a particularly violent churn, felt my mouth start to grow slick and clogged. I stood suddenly, my chair skittering back. Mum looked up with alarm as I clapped one hand to my mouth and the other over my belly. My head whipped around--the hall, the stairs were too far, I'd never make it to the bathroom-
I lurched to the kitchen sink and began to vomit. It flew out of me surprisingly easily, a torrent of mostly clear liquid, tinged with the pale yellow of stomach bile. After the initial salvo I tried to catch my breath, but each gulp of air pulled into my belly like a vacuum and continued the purge. It took me a few moments to realise I could feel my mother's soft hand gently, firmly rubbing my back, her quiet voice easing me along.
"Let it out....don't fight it sweetie. Oh, dear."
I stood, heaving, hiccupping and burping as I finally regained control, prickles of sweat dappling my brow and all along my breast and torso. My legs quivered violently, and mum helped me back to my seat. With jerky hands I found my water, and carefully sipped it, both hands wrapped around the glass. Mum rubbed my back a bit more, than went to wash out the sink, and flicked the kettle on.
"I'll make you some tea to settle your stomach."
"I fuh-feel like I'm dying," I moaned.
"Yeah, I'll bet," she replied with less sympathy than she might have otherwise. "But it'll pass. I take it you didn't have dinner while you were out?"
I shook my head, and she sighed. "What am I going to do with you."
The rest of the day passed quietly. After sipping some mint and ginger tea, I was bundled back up in bed, mum sitting by me and stroking my hair and back until I managed to drift into an uneasy sleep. When I woke up, the sky was beginning to darken, and my stomach growled angrily, unsure of whether it was still in revolt or demanding of fresh sacrifice to appease it. I shuffled to my door.
I could hear the faint sounds of the television and a laughtrack downstairs. Still wary, I stepped quietly and carefully, wincing at every familiar, inevitable creak in the old wooden stairs. As I reached the bottom, I looked into the living room where mum lounged on the couch, watching Friends. The local Chinese place's 2-can-eat bargain meal was laid out on the coffee table. Mum waved me over, reaching for a styrofoam container to hand to me.
"Soup. See if you can stomach that, first."
I took it gratefully, sinking into the couch next to her, and sipped at the steaming hot and sour soup. In a few moments I was sucking it back hungrily, before casting about for a plastic spoon to fish out the bits of tofu, chicken and shrimp within. Mum watched me with some amusement. "My little drunk."
I managed a small smile at that, and we both focused on the television for a bit as we ate. The episode ended and as some commercials reeled in the background, mum cleared her throat, turning to me.
"I should probably pay Melissa for that dress," she gauged.
I stopped, halfway to sipping the dregs of my soup. "Uh, I don't...that probably won't be necessary."
"Oh?"
I explained that she'd used her mom's credit card, and the reasoning behind it, and while she sounded a little less than impressed with Melissa's methods, she looked at me with a bit of a twinkle in her eye.
