How to Steal a Happy Ending

•twenty five• I'm not immune

"It's a strange condition,
A day in prison,
It's got me out of my head
And I don't know what I came for."
        -Strange Condition, Pete Yorn.

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The sound of wings fluttering where there used to be howling wind. The glow of sunlight when it used to glare at me from beyond the window pane. And the anticipation for something grand humming at the base of my throat.

No, I certainly wasn't hungover. You certainly aren't sober either.

We were supposed to meet for lunch. James and I. Well, Nate would probably be there too. But wasn't he always? Claire, that's too much eyeliner. I hastily wiped the excess off with some cotton. Then, in the mirror, angled my face in three or four different directions before I was satisfied with what I saw there.

With toes that rarely touched the steps, I'd reached the landing.  A blue, crochet shrug and a white tank top underneath. It was the first and then the tenth outfit I'd tried on. Not that there was any reason to try so hard...like, say a particular boy. I blew out a soft pfft. What boy? There's absolutely no boy I'd be thinking about this early in the morning. Loopholes. It's nowhere near morning, forget early.

"Mommy," I called a bit louder than the distance between us required, "I'm sorry I woke up so late. I mean, it's not like I got back home late...I just woke up late."

Getting no response from her, I decided to risk it and headed into the kitchen. I found her crouched over the counter, back facing me.

"You know, I totally did all of my homework yesterday so it's lot like I was being irresponsible," I started as I tiptoed around her to reach the refrigerator.

"Plus Nate was there too," I added, pulling out an apple. I took a huge bite and turned to face her, hoping that healthy food choices would be enough to escape her motherly "concern" (read: wrath).

My mom, however, was wrapped up in the twisting black coils of the wall phone, listening intently to whoever was on the other side of the line. She had a pen in her hands and the beginnings of a scowl on her face. A scowl she reserved only for one particular man, my father.

I should go. I took a few steps towards the door.

No, you should stay and eavesdrop. I retraced my steps and tried to stand as near as I inconspicuously could.

"Me? If you think I'm going to be the one to tell her then you have another think coming," my mom whisper-shouted into the phone, doodling so furiously on the paper napkin that it tore holes in the poor thing.

"This is your-" she paused abruptly to toss me a glare.

I swallowed and pointed to my apple. When this didn't decrease the intensity of her look, I took another large bite and tried to smile through the chunks now smushed inside my mouth.

"Hang on," she told my dad and placed a hand over the receiver. "Did you want something?"

I shuffled backwards and shook my head, "Oh no, I was just going to grab lunch with the guys."

She huffed in response and returned to her angry phone call. Taking that as a yes, I grabbed my keys and high tailed it out of there.