Take Me Home | ✔

Chapter Thirty-Six

CHAPTER THIRY-SIX

   When the headlights of my mom's car turned at the curb, I couldn't bring myself to open the door of the phone booth. When I really, really thought about it, I didn't think I was ready to talk to my mom. I wasn't ready to forgive her. But I couldn't stay in this phone booth forever, and besides, Tessa's short-shorts weren't much protection against the morning cold, even if I was in the booth. 

  I wondered if my mom saw me in this phone booth. I could see her silhoutte in the driver's seat, and my heart started hammering fast. 

 Then she reached forward and opened the passenger door for me, beckoning me out of the phone booth and into the car. 

  With trembling fingers, I pushed myself out of the booth, stepping into the steady rain and finding a microscopic amount of courage to awkwardly jog to the car. I quickly got inside, shutting the door and buckling myself in, staring at the windshield blankly, wordlessly. I didn't dare look at my mother. 

  I didn't really know what to expect. 

 All my life, my mother was the 'tiger mom', unleashing her claws whenever she didn't get her way, or what she wanted out of me. She had this talent for smothering me, and then getting offended when I pushed her away. She was unpredictable as she was dangerous. 

  I guessed I expected her to start yelling at me, going into lecture-mode about the dangers of hitchhiking or why I wasn't responsible enough to wake up on time, or how I didn't just go to the police station instead and phoned her there (which actually would've been a remarkable idea if I had thought of it at the time). 

   But my mom didn't say anything. I counted the seconds in my head, waiting until she exploded like a volcano, but she didn't let out a word. I could feel her eyes on me, though, but after a moment, she pulled out of the curb and started driving. 

  The silent game shoudl've been my tactic, my weapon. It was my only use for my sarcasm and the only outlet for my anger. She did betray me, just as much as she was a traitor to my father. But now, she was using my own weapon against me. 

  I didn't know what to do. I was prepared for all the above, except for the unthinkable; her not saying anything, anything at all. 

  I snuck a peek through my peripheral vision; her gaze was solely resting on the road in front of her. Her face was the eptiome of calmness, though her eyes looked weary and the skin around them sagged a little. Her belly was growing, too. I wondered if I would have a little brother or a mini-me for a half-sibling. It occured to me that I never once asked about her pregnancy. Not once. Not after she started seeing Stephen. 

  We pulled into interstate, and for the first time this whole week, the surroundings around me became familiar. My dad's favorite ice cream parlor was still beside my old elementary school, and the library was still under construction, the same construction equipment lying beside the building. There were no mysteries or new sights to see back home. It was as if I had never left. It both filled me with relief and suffocated me at the same time. 

 After about five minutes, I couldn't take the silence. 

  "Mom?" 

  I surprised both of us by speaking. 

 "Hmm?" she replied casually, as if I never left. 

 "How's the baby?" I asked, feeling small. 

 This got her. Her eyes widened and she turned to look at me. "T-The baby's perfectly fine... thank you, for asking." 

 "You're welcome," I said. "Also... how's Stephen?" 

This whole forgiving thing was a lot more painful than I expected. I was taking baby steps, but it felt more like turtle walks.