Boot Camp

02: Old Version

"Whitney, can you come down?"

This is my mother's second time calling me from downstairs, yet I've been blatantly ignoring her. Unfortunately, since we're the only ones in this house, and she can yell louder than a foghorn, my plan is useless.

"I will soon!" I call back from my room.

I hear her footsteps come at the bottom of the stairs followed by a loud groan. "If you are on your phone or watching TV, you better bring your ass down here right now."

I look around me and see the flashing TV screen and the open app on my phone and feel my cheeks turn red. She knows me far too well. "My ass will make an appearance!" I yell back as I get off my bed.

I clamber out of my room into the hallway and head down the stairs. I find my mom in the kitchen, a cacophony from clashing pots and pans resounding into the living room.

"I'm here," I inform her, resting a hand against the entrance of the kitchen. She looks up at me, the same green eyes I have meeting mine.

"I need your help. This kitchen is horrendous, and to be honest, the only person I trust to organize it with me is you."

Or it could be the fact Dad, Poppy, and Levi are all out golfing, and I am the only person here, but sure.

"Alright, what would you like me to do?" I walk inside and start recycling the stack of old advertisement newspapers into the trash. My dad collects them for no reason, since I've never seen him pick one of them up and actually look at the deals on boxed pasta and toilet paper or other miscellaneous items.

"Get started on the pantry," she replies, yanking out a large colander from the cabinet and setting it on the counter, mumbling, "Why is this even here?"

I open the pantry and am greeted with shelves and shelves of different food items. It isn't entirely disorganized, but some things should be placed in other areas, and some simply need throwing out. I pick up a box of cereal and read the expiration date.

"Mom this expired on Thanksgiving," I say, chucking it in the trash. "Why is it here?"

"Oh you know how your father is, 'expiration dates are only relative,'" she answers, mocking him in a deep baritone. I let out a small laugh and continue reorganizing some of the boxes. The prospect of cleaning this kitchen doesn't too bad when I realize it gives me the perfect opportunity to talk to her. Senior year was so hectic that our relationship was reduced to formalities, and I miss her advice, even though I don't take it half the time.

"Mom, I want to ask you something, and I need you to be honest," I say, putting down the box of Honey Bunches of Oats in my hand on the shelf. "Do you think I'm fat?"

She spins around, her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Where the hell would you get that idea?"

Haha...she thinks I'm making it up. "People," I say vaguely. She narrows her eyes for more clarification. "People, places, school. People from places such as school."

People named Willow from school.

"Oh, Whitney." She presses her fingers to her forehead, but her eyes widen slightly, as if a thought just occurred to her. "Does this have anything to do with that Willow girl?"

"No." The lie slips out of my mouth before I can stop it. "Well, I mean, I guess, but she's not the only reason I think that way."

"If you want my real, unfiltered opinion, no, I don't think you're fat," she says and stands up, looking me dead in the eyes. "Lazy, undoubtedly, but even if you were fat, I'd still love you the same, Whitney."