Wednesday. Today is Wednesday, making tomorrow Thursday, and the day after Friday. Two days. I have exactly two days to decide whether or not to fake an illness to keep from driving to my mother's house, just to hear her complain of how I'm not yet a doctor or some millionaire. Honest to God, she drives me absolutely insane.
There's my decision. I'm definitely calling sick. It would be much better to pretend to be sick, than to let her words and judgment make me even more than I'm letting off.
After three, maybe four rings, she answers, not even letting me speak as she tells me of her day, and how coffee had gone with her co-worker, Vincent. It must've been a good twenty minutes before I even had the opportunity to speak. Something other than humming, and ooh's.
"I'm feeling absolutely dreadful," My words fumbles, and come out a lot more rushed than I initially had planned.
"Oh, dear, when you come down, I can nurse you so you can help with dinner!" Not exactly the response I was aiming for. At all.
"I don't think it would be safe for me to drive all that way there..." I trail off, rolling my eyes, but not letting it affect my tone overall.
"Don't be silly, Arabella! Christian can pick you up," This woman doesn't give up.
"Christian will be out for the holidays with his family. Besides, I wouldn't dare ruin anything by having him drive two hours here to pick up my vomit ridden self, and have to smell all of that on the journey back. I just won't allow it." When she doesn't respond, my subconscious does enough front flips to make me actually sick, and a smirk takes over my features. I won.
"Fine," I hear her sigh in loss. "But be sure to call me every few hours to ensure you're still alive." She jokes. Her joking side almost makes me want to 'feel better', but it's the boiling blood inside me screaming that let's me remain ill.
After an hour or so of conversing after that, we say our farewells, and I turn my phone in to charge. I curl up on the couch with an old novel, and the fire roars under my two stockings. One for me, and one for Lucy. Oh, Lucy Gaunt, where are you at 6 pm on a Wednesday night?
A small part of me thinks she's back to her ways. Partying and calling me at 2 in the morning, high, asking for a ride back home. But a bigger part of me knows that isn't the case, for she hasn't since nearly a year ago, when her (now ex) boyfriend was upset she wouldn't have sex with her, and got her extremely drugged up, and well.
She doesn't seem affected by it today, but I know it took a toll on her life at the time. Plus, as stubborn as this sounds, I'm glad it happened. Now she doesn't care for parties much, and spends a lot more time with me in our little apartment in Seattle. Ironic, considering I haven't seen her all day.
As if on cue, the door fumbles, and Lucy walks in, bags in hand, phone between ear and shoulder, kicking the door closed as she puts her keys on the shelf beside the light switch.
"Yes, Jace... I just walked in... No, she's right here... You're a pest, did you know?" I put the novel down, and watch with humor as she aggravatingly opens her laptop, logging in and starting up her email. "You idiot, there isn't even an email here!" I let out a laugh as she throws her head back, groaning.
Jace is her current boyfriend, who's perfect for Lucy. His brown eyes and blond hair look perfect next to her green eyes and brown hair. He's maybe 6'4, which towers over her petite 5'4 body, but she's told me it's an advantage in cuddling. Yeah, I'm sure all you do is cuddle, Lucy.
Her laptop dings, a new email popping up. "Oh," she says, clicking it. "Just kidding." She laughs, then her eyes scanned through the text, deep in thought. What are they talking about?
My inner self laughs as she puts the phone down and presses speaker, letting me be even more of snitch. But, nobody talks for a good two minutes.
"So, in conclusion..." She begins, licking her lips as she seemingly rereads the first part of the email. "You're a fucking idiot," A deep chuckle echoes from the phone to both of our ears, and I can see the love she has when she hears it. They've only been dating for about 6 months, but I personally believe it is indeed love.
"C'mon, Luce! It's cool!"
"You had me rush my groceries and drive all the way home in a rush..."
"Well, I mean,"
"Nearly run over a cat..."
"I,"
"And then ask if I'm safe when I get home, even though the only caution I would've had was your rushing..."
"Don't say it,"
"For..."
"Luce, don't say it."
"A forwarded verification email that you, Jace Braxton, won a tablet?"
I can't help it, a laugh erupts from my lips, and I find myself throwing my head into a pillow to quiet it down. I was hoping he won millions, or was offered a good paying job, but this.
"And you couldn't tell me this just over the phone because?"
"It was a way to stay on the phone longer?" He questions, and Lucy turns her chair so she's looking in my direction, just enough to allow me to see her eye roll.
"Goodnight, Jace." She sings, before hanging up, and giving me an apology for being so long. After she puts away all of our groceries, she plops down next to me, just before examining my features.
"Are you all right?" I question, chuckling.
"You don't look sick." She smirks. Damned mother. I explain to her that I really would rather be alone for the holidays, and she agrees with me that my mother can be extremely rude, and that she would do the same, had she had the opportunity. We share stories from the day, and at around 9:40, she heads off into her room for sleep.
I feel as though I should sleep too, but I've procrastinated looking for a job all day, and I know I should really get to that. I nearly laugh at the thought. If there's one thing I'm known for, it's for procrastination, and this is no exception.
Hours later of reading and the consummation of half of a pizza, I let myself fall asleep on the couch, hoping for dreams of calming fireplaces, and freshly baked cookies by my mother, not yet poisened by her words.
