One fateful summer, fashionable, sweet, city-raised Fianna is stuck in the middle of nowhere- and happens to live next door to tough, hardworking, all-around country girl Jaycee.
One's gay. The other... well, she isn't sure anymore.
Ask her again at...
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And that was the last I'd heard from Jay that day.
All day I didn't move from my bed. I laid there facedown, hidden beneath the tangled pile of multicolored old blankets and stuffed animals. I kept checking my phone, as if I'd somehow miss the call in between each few seconds that passed.
The night was hell. After hours of little sleep and even less motivation, I made the decision to send that text. It wasn't necessarily risky by any stretch, but it felt like it. Usually, I withdraw when I'm sad. This very routine has been mine for ten years now.
The only difference being my resolve to actually reach out to someone this time around.
You'd think a grieving girl would be smothered by her family, but it's not how things work with us. Not anymore. It's not what I want. And we all have our ways of getting by. My dad keeps himself busy with chores outside. My sister sits in the farmhouse with headphones, drugging herself with music.
Personally, I wallow for days leading up to, and after this one.
I put everything off until I couldn't take it. I pulled myself out of bed to pee. I ate probably two leftover biscuits that day. I didn't bother to reheat them.
The camper darkened. My phone screen was brighter than the light from the window behind me.
No new messages. No missed calls.
I slammed my phone down as tears silently welled.
<>
I hurried down the last few paces of the stairs. I had hoped for whatever reason it would be a good morning, but when I saw that glazed look in my mother's weary eyes I knew I was in for the usual Claiborne routine. I tried to keep things upbeat for her sake.
"Mornin', mama." I said as I hopped down, wrapping my arm around her shoulder for a kiss on the cheek.
"Mornin' sweetheart." She halfheartedly replied. Her eyes were low. She looked retreated, as if she'd buried her very self deep within that plush robe she wore.
Out the window, I noticed the extra truck in the drive. "Dad's home?" My arm hadn't moved from her shoulder.
"Yes." My mother nodded with an exasperated sigh, walking away from my hold. "So you best be quiet. You know how he gets every morning. I don't want you bangin' around tryin' to piss him off for fun. You hear me?"
She was never loud with me. Stern? Very.
I honestly had no intentions to provoke anyone. Some days, sure. It can be awful easy, and I get a helluva laugh outta my dad's misery at my hands. But I could always tell when my mother was at her limit. No need to push her any further. "Yes ma'am. I understand."
"I'd like some peace this morning." She sat herself down at the kitchen table, tending to her forehead. "I got a headache and your sister's runnin' a fever."
