alumni ➢ luke hemmings [DISCONTINUED]

2.9 ➢ The Flowers.

SOPHIE HAYES

I am standing on the edge of the sidewalk when my phone begins to buzz in my pocket. Knowing that there is only one person in the world who audio Skypes me instead of the usual FaceTime, I'm not surprised once I reach the other side of the road and see that it's my mother.

"Hello?" I say, slinging my backpack over my shoulder and letting the other side dangle towards the floor. It is raining in New York, quite heavily despite the sun that we just had yesterday, but obviously I didn't wear a coat or bring an umbrella or anything that requires common sense like that.

Instead, I duck underneath store fronts, thick trees, plastic umbrellas that belong to little cafés filled with people who look at me like I'm insane. Then I have the nerve to complain about my hair being wet, maybe let out a little groan or two. A vicious cycle, really.

"Anak," [Daughter] she says, her soft voice a little muffled on the other line, her even softer smile prominent in the way that she speaks. For a split second I forget about the essays and the book reports I have due, nevertheless the impending sense of doom whenever Bethany's name is mentioned and I realise that I haven't been to a single sorority meeting since the last.

My excuse? I don't have one. But Luke should, because Luke's the main reason I haven't been going. So technically I do have an excuse- I'd just prefer not to use it.

"Kamusta ka na?" [How are you?]

"I'm good," I say, though if she could see me now she'd probably laugh. My hair is a mess and my backpack is slowly slipping off my shoulder and the rain has long since penetrated through my converse- my ankle socks are soaked and it chills me to the bone. "Are you okay?"

I can't hear what she says, but I'm guessing she says she's great, because there's laughter in the background and the clinking of wine glasses and immediately I know, I just know, that she's at some celebration. There's the distinct sound of other people chattering in the background and the only other question I have is, "Wait, Mum, why are you calling me?"

"Am I not allowed to?" she laughs airily, a clear telltale sign that she's had a little too much to drink and is expressing the effects as we speak. I make it into my dorm complex when I hear my father's voice; much more sober and way more coherent.

"Soph- Sophie?" he says, and there's a grasping sound that I assume is coming from him taking the phone from my mother, "Hello, Soph,"

"Hi, Dad," I say, slotting my key in and turning the lock, "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," he answers chirpily, "We're just at a small meet with some of your mother's old friends,"

"Ah," I nod, "What old friends?"

"Oh, you know. Some of her old sorority. The usual,"

"Like a reunion?"

"Sort of," he replies, and upon pushing my dorm room open, my eyes land on something colourful and bright placed right in the middle of the kitchen island. I raise an eyebrow. "Your mother spoke to quite a lot of people tonight. You know what she's like when she has one drink. She started to sip after every sentence,"

"I see," I say, amused at the thought of my Mom washing the anxiety away with alcohol. It sounds like more of a me thing to do, so in a way I can relate. "Is she going to be okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. She'll be fine. Just needs some water and bread in her and she'll be semi-functioning by tomorrow morning,"

"That's good," I laugh slightly, the mental picture of my mother with a hangover doing a lot for my amusement, "Any idea why she called me?"