Holding On (Holding On #1)

Chapter 1

It's freezing cold outside and I should have brought a jacket. The sweat still dripping between my shoulder blades was making me shiver even worse. I tossed my bag in the backseat of my car and immediately pulled out my running pants and slipped them on over my tennis skirt. Why I didn't change inside was beyond me. I was so excited to have my last "ordered" therapy that I just want to get home. Plus, it was my best friend's birthday, and I couldn't wait to celebrate.

Pulling out of the parking lot, I noticed the fresh snow that had fallen while I was inside. Michigan winters can be rough, but they are also very beautiful and very unpredictable. Last week, we had just a light dusting on the ground, and now it looked like we had close to three feet. It made me wonder how much more we'll get before Christmas. Last year, we didn't have any. We had a warm spell a couple of days before, and it all melted until after the holidays.

As I pulled into our apartment complex, I started to go through my to-do list in my head when I realized that my mom's car was home. Why was she not at work? I glanced down at the clock on my dash, and it was 7:03 p.m. She was supposed to start her shift at the hospital at seven. This has to be bad, I thought. Mom never misses work; we can't afford it.

I trudged inside, not really wanting to leave the warmth of my car since I was just beginning to feel my legs again. When I opened the front door, I was immediately surrounded by the smell of dinner. Not just any dinner, either, but enchiladas! That's my mom's famous "bad news dinner." Crap! I didn't need this right now. I had to be ready in less than forty-five minutes if we are going to make it to the movie on time.

Rounding the living room, I decided to head straight for the shower. Her news was going to have to wait. As I reached for the handle, thankful that I made it past my mom undetected, I heard my sister. The door was locked, and I could hear she was crying to someone on the phone. Crying? Double crap! This was worse than I thought it was going to be. My sister never cries. Broken finger, twisted ankle, softball to the eye, she is tougher than I am and has her emotions completely in check. I am the family cry baby, and it has always been that way. I wear my emotions on my sleeve—you never have to guess how I feel.

Choices? I could try to slip into my room and go to the movie without a shower. Yuck! I couldn't sit that close to someone else and fear that I smell bad. I could beat down the door, but that would not solve anything, and my mom would know that I was home. If she knew I was here, she would corner me, and then I was stuck talking about her news. The only other option was to leave and go somewhere else to shower. That would put me way over my forty-five-minute time limit though. Crap!

Just as I was about to tangle with option 1 and which perfume I was going to overspray on myself, the door opened, and my sister, bloodshot eyes and tear-stained face, walked out. I gave her an "Are you all right" look, and she started to cry again and bolted for her room. I heard the lock click into place and began to wonder just how bad my mom's news really was, but I needed a shower. I needed to get ready to go out. I needed to avoid my mom at all costs now, or my eyes and face were going to look twice as bad as my sisters, and that was not what I needed right then.

Shower, check. Hair, check. Makeup, check. Time, 7:35 p.m. Excellent! I had ten minutes before I had to be ready. Just enough time for me to pick out what to wear. I opened my closet and grabbed a sweater. It should work, but now to find some clean jeans, I don't think I had any. Looks like I was going to have to wear a skirt and my legs were going to freeze. I really needed to do laundry this weekend.

A knock on my door brought my thoughts back to reality. I bet it was my mom. She had left me alone this long, but I knew she would get me before I was able to get out of the house. I heard her open the door and walk in, but I kept my back to her, head still in my closet, pretending to pick out my clothes. I pulled my sweater on, but I needed to change out of my sweat pants still. I stared at myself in the mirror and continued to pretend that I hadn't noticed her.