Mimeomia

07 | theine

CHAPTER SEVEN

THEINE

( — caffeine, especially when it occurs in tea. )

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

          "I SCREWED UP, MOM," Michaela complains, as Yvonne exits the kitchen, standing by the doorway and cupping a mug of tea between her hands. Michaela's own steaming cup is resting on the coffee table in front of her, where it can easily be knocked aside by her cardigan if she moves too carelessly. She is careless and impulsive, let's put it at that. "I screwed up pretty badly this time."

          "You sure did, honey," Yvonne retorts, stepping inside the living room, her flats clicking softly against the wooden floor, and Michaela can't even find the strength to argue that she, out of all people, should side with her. Even though everyone can agree Michaela is at fault this time, the low voice gnawing at the back of her brain insists people should also acknowledge the effort she puts into everything she does. "Have you talked to Ginny again?"

          "Not since yesterday"—Michaela sniffles, sinking even lower into her couch, wrapped in a blanket—"after I ever so kindly hung up the phone mid-conversation. Not even Lincoln is talking to me. I'm not expecting Roya to answer my texts anytime soon either." She pulls her knees close to her chest and leans her forehead against them, exhaling. "God, Mom. I screwed up."

          "Baby." Michaela shakes her head, without looking up, and the air shifts behind her, with her mother's slender fingers tugging at her hair and twisting the strands into an intricate braid. "Ginny is your friend. I'm sure you two will manage to fix things." 

          Michaela has her doubts and knows they're justified. If there's one thing in Ginny's life she doesn't tolerate having it be messed with, that's her career and Michaela nearly ruined the story because she's a dirty coward. She doesn't even know how to word it differently, as she messed up by drinking too much and sleeping with Lennox; as if that wasn't enough, she chickened out instead of being professional about it like she claims to be regarding everything in her life.

          Granted, she could be doing a lot more to fix things with Ginny—and, to an extent, with Lincoln and Lennox—instead of moping around at home while feeling sorry for herself, but the storm that has struck New York still hasn't abated and she's at home with a silent phone.

          Not even Kelsey, who always manages to stay neutral during arguments who don't involve her, is talking to her, meaning Ginny has already spilled the details about what happened yesterday, and Kelsey must have decided it was something absolutely unforgivable.

          Needless to say, Michaela feels downright miserable, despite knowing she brought all of this upon herself by being a spoiled, judgmental brat, like Lennox said. She feels like she's not enough and too much simultaneously, a contradiction that dictates her whole life and locks her up in the awkward limbo between modesty and arrogance.

          "What do you think I should do?" Michaela asks, as her mother braids her hair. The head massage is leaving her too drowsy. "Besides apologizing, because I've done that countless times and she still hasn't replied to any of my texts. We both know she won't, so I could be talking to a wall and getting the exact same response."

          Yvonne pins back the last two strands of hair. "I don't know, honey. You know Ginny a lot better than I do, but, if she's still not replying, I don't think it'd be a good idea to keep pushing it. Maybe her phone died, or something, but . . ."