Confessions of a Queen B*

Untitled Part 23

I was searching for something edible in the fridge that evening when I heard the garage door open. It was too early for Taylor to be back from cheerleading practice, and even then, she wouldn't come through the garage due to her lack of a driver's license. That only left one person.

"Hi, Mom," I said, looking up from the scant selection on the shelves. Of course, the one day I actually needed to buy food at the grocery store, I didn't. I'll blame Brett for distracting me. But it still didn't give me much hope for dinner. Did I want a PBJ sandwich again tonight, or did I want to try the freezer and hope there were enough veggies for a stir-fry? "No class tonight?"

My mom had been staying late after work for the last three weeks learning how to use a laser for facial resurfacing. Some plastic surgeon in town was teaching her, but my mom said she needed a certain number of hours of training before she could use it in her practice. Hence, why I'd barely seen her since school started.

"Nope, Pete was sick." Her high heels clicked across the tiled floor as she came up behind me. "Time for me to schedule another grocery delivery, huh?"

"Or you could just go to the grocery store like a normal mom."

Of course, there was nothing normal about my mom. A former beauty queen, she was elegant, intelligent, poised. More than once, I'd heard guys at school call her a MILF, which was disturbing. Of course, it didn't help that she looked more like an older sister than a mom thanks to her using her dermatologic knowledge on herself. I suspected she and her partner took turns injecting each other with Botox on their lunch breaks.

Taylor and my mom were cut from the same cloth, all about appearances.

I was more like my dad, valuing knowledge over beauty. Hence, why Mom and I always seemed to have a strained relationship, at best.

"You know how I hate going to the grocery store, honey. I keep running into my patients there, and they keep wanting to show me some skin growth in the produce section." She closed the fridge door. "Why don't we order pizza tonight?"

Part of me wanted to suggest she cook dinner for once, but I knew better. There was a reason why our kitchen still looked showroom new even though the appliances were five years old. "I'm cool with that, but you know Taylor will only eat a salad."

"Oh, that sounds like a better idea." She pulled her iPad out and started pressing buttons on the screen. "Do you want one, too?"

"No, thanks, Mom. I'm all about indulging in cheese, grease, and carbs." But when she handed the iPad to me to pick out my pizza toppings, I ended up loading up on the veggies.

That was when the Demon Doll decided to start screaming.

My normally graceful mom stumbled in her stilettos. "Holy shit, what is that?"

"Class project." I gave her back the iPad and began my checklist. Removing and replacing the diaper? Check, with still more screaming. Bottle in mouth? Check. Problem solved. I settled onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island and pretended to feed the doll.

"They've come a long way from the flour sack baby I had to tote around in school." Mom came closer, staring at it as though she expected it to turn into Chucky. "How did you get it to stop crying?"

"There's a sensor in its mouth that recognizes the bottle." I took it out to show, reviving the wails of displeasure from the doll. Peace returned as soon as I put the bottle back in the doll's mouth. "I'm getting graded on how well I take care of a doll that's meant to mimic a real baby."

"Definitely realistic." She returned to her iPad. "Is this the first day of the project?"

"It's the third." It didn't surprise me one bit that she slept through the screaming on Tuesday night. I suspected she'd taken an Ambien that night. "Brett and I are switching off every night, though."

"Who's Brett?"

"My partner for the project." No need to explain anything else, like the way I seemed to lose IQ points whenever I was around him.

"That's nice of him to help out with the baby, unlike your father."

I rolled my eyes and bit my tongue. I was used to the jabs she threw at Dad whenever she got a chance. What little I remembered of the divorce was messy. Mom had caught him fooling around with his graduate assistant. He claimed she'd driven him to it because she was too busy working all the time. In truth, I didn't care. My parents were better off split than they were together.

Thankfully, the front door slammed before I had to listen to any more. Taylor stopped at the edge of the kitchen. "What are you doing home this early, Mom?"

She finally looked up from her iPad. "Geez, you make it sound like I'm never here."

"You aren't," I replied and began the burping part of the doll's cycle. Maybe Brett was right about this being a drill. It was almost becoming second nature now. Perhaps there was some minute shred of a maternal gene in me.

Taylor dumped her cheerleading bags on the floor and sat on the barstool next to me. "It's just strange having you here at dinner time, that's all."

"Sounds like we're overdue for a family dinner, then." She handed Taylor the tablet. "Which salad do you want?"

"She always gets the Greek salad, dressing on the side, extra kalamata olives," I answered. I'd ordered from this restaurant enough times to have it memorized.

Taylor nodded. "Yep, my usual."

Mom looked at her as though she was a stranger before entering the order. A few clicks later, and she put the tablet down on the counter. "Time to get comfy."

Once she left the kitchen, Taylor pounced on the iPad and started typing in a web address. "I don't know what you did, but those videos are down. See?"

She held up the tablet so I could see the site, which said the videos had been removed by the user.

"Glad to know the secrets of your cleavage are safe-at least, until some guy tries to get to second base."

She smacked me with the iPad. "You are so crude sometimes."

"You're the one insisting on wearing the inserts."

She gave me an exaggerated huff. "And here I was, trying to thank you for getting them taken down."

"Wait, what was that?" I held my hand up to my ear. "You're thanking me?"

"Whatever. But for once, I'm glad the biggest bitch in Eastline is my sister." A hint of sincerity laced her voice, and she gave me a hug.

My throat started to swell, blocking off any words that could ruin this rare display of affection from Taylor.

She rolled off the barstool. "I'm going to change and get started on my homework. Let me know when the food gets here."

And just like that, I was back to being alone in our barely used kitchen.