Captive - FourTris

Twenty-Nine

FEBRUARY 5
5 MONTHS, 6 DAYS

It was a half day at school today, but I forgot until second period. Tobias wasn't home when I went by his house, so I ended up back at home again.

Which is weird. More and more, I just sleep in my bed and that's it. I don't have dinner here, I don't watch TV, I just come home and fall into bed.

But today I'm sitting on the couch, catching a Gossip Girl rerun and painting my toenails even though it's winter and no one will see them. I've eaten half a bag of Doritos. It's an oddly comforting afternoon.

But then I hear the garage door hum open. I know my mum has arrived, and all that tranquility floods out faster than it arrived.

I haven't seen her in about two weeks. I know she's going to ask where I've been every day, what I'm up to. How my grades are. She may not be loving, but she's predictable.

I cap the nail polish and use a piece of newspaper to fan my nails. I hear her heels click across the Travertine-tiled kitchen and I know she hears the movie on.

"Oh, Tris! What are you doing home?" I look up to see her generic three-piece suit in forest green, and her hair pulled up in its usual no-nonsense French twist.

I shrug. "Teacher in-service or something."

She nods. "How is school going?"

"Good. I think I got a 3.7 this semester."

She nods. "That's great. Are you having trouble in any of your courses? Your teachers being fair?"

I shrug. "Everything's fine."

"And your boyfriend? How is he?"

"Good."

She moves and is sitting next to me on the couch before I can blink.

"Are you sure he's not..." Her voice trails off.

"Not what?"

"I just think... I think there are other fish in the sea," she says, all in one breath, like a big woosh of words. I wonder how long she's been saving that, looking for the right moment.

I shrug. "I'm sure there are. But I want to be with him."

"Why, though? It's not like—"

This time she stops abruptly.

"It's not like what?" I ask.

"He's not really ..." her voice trails off yet again.

"Just tell me what you're trying to say." My voice comes out a little rougher than I'd meant it to because I just want her to spit it out already, and it's obvious it's not going to be good. Why beat around the bush?

"He's not good enough," she says. "For you. You're better than him."

And there it is. Her opinion, right out in the open. I knew she didn't like him. Even when she was smiling at him that day she met him, I could see something behind it. She was trying too hard to be nice and cheerful.

It wasn't real.

"There's more to him than you see," I tell her.

"Enlighten me," she says, her voice a little too terse. She's sitting so perfectly next to me, her back ramrod straight.

"He's not on trial, Mum. I'm not going to debate it with you."

"I just think you need to meet other people," she says, reaching out to pat my knee. It's hard not to jerk it away. It's hard not to snap right back at her, because I hate that she wants to force us apart. He's the love of my life. I'm not leaving him. Not now, not ever. I promised him. No matter what.

"Mum, just stop, okay? Not going to happen."

And then I reach for the nail polish but only succeed in knocking it over, and it pools over the wooden side table, a big splotch of red.

"Just think about it. Aim higher."

And then, before I can say anything coherent in response, she's gone and I'm left cleaning up the mess.