Then, like magic, Summer in the City is over. Until next year, I suppose. I have to admit, if it was longer than two days I'm not sure I'd be able to survive. After spending two or three days after in a weird exhausted hangover mode, I'm ready to join the rest of society again, sort of. This happens every year. After SitC, I'm ready to collapse, drained by all the talking and running around. It's worth it, though.
It's been a week. I've gotten over the rush of excitement I got every time someone recognized me, and the scrape on my knee has nearly totally healed. Now I'm back to calling Mum and Dad, studying, and doing normal university student things.
"Hey Mum," I say, petting my cat, Edgar. I got him a year ago as a scrawny black kitten who was "unadoptable." Now he's grown up to be a grumpy mass of fur who can't take no for an answer. We're sat on one of my kitchen chairs, him in my lap purring up a storm.
"Mia! How was today?" asks Mum. She asks this every time she calls me, no matter what.
"Great, Mum," I say, "Had a lecture today, that was okay. How have you and Dad been doing?" This is the same that I always say, "how are you" and "good, you?" We never talk about much more than our daily lives, nothing about feelings or fears.
"Oh, it's been good. We've been so proud of you and Clara. Getting so old, you both are." I sigh. "I can't believe you reached seven hundred and fifty thousand subscribers this week!" That's new. Mom doesn't usually acknowledge my channel, much less congratulate me on it. I wonder what's changed.
"Thanks Mum! What made you mention it?" I ask.
"Oh, I don't know, I just thought your father and I should get more invested in you and Clara's lives, you know?" she explains.
"Sounds great," I say. I actually mean, 'Time to start censoring my videos!' but I don't say that, "So what else has been going on?" I ask. Suddenly my mother's voice takes a much darker tone.
She sighs, "Mia, you know, I called to tell you that your father and I- well, the house has just gotten so big with you and Clara moved out, and we really don't need all this space. Basically, we want to sell the house. We're having a meeting with Mrs. Peltier tomorrow, actually." Mrs. Peltier is a realtor, a person that sells and buys houses. They're selling our house. I lived my whole life there before moving to this flat in London, meaning my entire childhood was spent in that wonderful little house.
"You're selling it?" I yelp. Mum sighs again.
"Yes, I know it's a shock. We just don't need the space anymore, and it's getting to be too much for your father and I. Just last week we had to spend a hundred pounds getting the crack in the ceiling fixed. It could've crumbled down on us!" I blankly stare across the room out a window, the one in the lounge that leads out to the busy street . It won't be my house anymore, it'll be some stranger's. I've never been that sentimental of a person, but something about never being able to go back to the house I call home makes me feel sick.
"I'll talk to you later, Mum," I say, and we exchange goodbyes.
Groaning, I move to the couch, carrying Edgar the cat with me. I still have what feels like hours of studying left to do before an test tomorrow. I pick up my heavy blue notes binder and get started. The funny thing is that I don't even care about whatever this test is about. I just want to get out of Uni and be able to make films that I love, rather than assignments or projects. Everything I've made so far in Uni just feels cold, dead, like there's no life in the film. I want to go back to the things I used to make for myself, and not some professor or subscribers.
- - -
Around three in the afternoon, Dan calls me.
"Hello?" I answer, already knowing who it is. We've been texting for the past week, and by now we're each other's best friends on Snapchat.
"Hey," he says, "It's Dan. What's up?" he asks.
