No Time Like Now (Lesbian)

Chapter Seventeen

I find myself sprawled on the couch in the living room, alternating between homework and social media on my phone. It's nice to be relaxed out of my room, I'll admit. Frankly, I miss occupying the other rooms in the house.

I also miss time to myself, the reason I stay in my room whenever Mom and Dad aren't home.

I glance at my backpack across the room, where one of the library books is peeking out. Come to think of it, my time should be better spent.

In no time, I'm back on the couch and curled up around Undead Girl Gang. For once, I wish I can say it without referring to a book. Could you imagine getting the reputation of being in a gang of zombies? (Forget the many scenarios that could go wrong; I'm not focusing on those.)

Just as I get to the main character raising the dead, my ears pick up the sound of the front door being unlocked and forced open. Loud stomping follows, ending by the door being slammed shut. Mom and Dad are speaking in low voices.

My heart pounding, I attempt to hide myself as much as possible until it's safe to go up to my room again. It's possible they'll go to the kitchen and stay there for, I don't know, ten minutes?

The low talking stops. "Niamh?" Mom calls.

I don't answer. I'm not ready to be found.

"Niamh! Are you in your room again?!"

Sigh. "Here," I say, weak.

Stomps get closer to where I am. "Huh, you're out of your room for once," she comments. "Come on, we're having a family discussion at the dinner table."

Moments before, my heart was pumping wildly. The second her last word comes out, it stops beating completely.

Fearing the unknown, I follow Mom to the dining room. Dad's got his work papers out and shuffling through them as we sit down.

Mom, still in her work mode, sits up professionally and clasps her hands together. "So, we gave you a chance to enjoy your last year of high school without too much to worry about," she begins. "But it's December, meaning we'll have to crack down and talk about where you'll be going for college."

My fear changes into dreaded annoyance. Great, I have another obstacle I can't opt out of doing. What's the best way to get out of this alive?

"Where do you think you want to go to?" Mom probes. "I'm sure you've thought of something by now."

"You mean while you were giving me a chance to not worry about college?" I ask. It's a sincere question on my part.

Mom, however, doesn't think so. "Watch your attitude," she warns, her eyes narrowing.

I was until now.

Dad puts down his papers. "What are you interested in?" he asks. "Whatever it is, I'm sure you can major in a degree that benefits you."

I shrug. Careers and degrees and all that jazz is the next part of the English project, which my class has barely started in because of how many people needed to catch up on the first portion. Mr. Shadler's not the only one pissed by this.

My lack of jumping into the question is making Mom twitch. "Niamh, the best place for you to start is the universities in the state," she says. "You'll be able to stay home and work on your degree here."

"I don't know where I want to go," I say truthfully. "Yeah, I'm looking at colleges, but I don't know which to apply. Or even what major to take in."

"Of course," she says with a nod. She forces herself into a smile. "We'll help you get it sorted."

"Thanks, but no. I got it."

A grimace flashes, and then disappears. "I wasn't asking, Niamh."

"I realize that. And I said I'll do it on my own."

Her fingernails tap on the surface. "Everything will go a lot better if you involve your family--"

"And I'll go to my friends if I need family help," I interrupt. "Or I can not go to college, and instead of me working on what I want to major in, we can have a discussion on how I'll be living in the basement with a druggie spouse and bratty kids."

Cue the staring contest between us, her with the piercing gaze and me with a nothing-to-lose expression.

Dad bravely breaks us apart. "Niamh, you can go," he tells me. "We can all talk more about this later."

"Fine." Standing up, I turn and go up the stairs to my paradise. And immediately come down because I forgot to take my zombie homies with me.

__________

Inspired by Dad's bravery earlier, I pop out of my room for food eventually. As I pass by the 'master' bedroom, I hear the low voices again. It's normal; Mom and Dad tend to have serious discussions or casual debates behind those doors.

I hear my name being used. Also normal, but chances are they're talking about college. Might as well eavesdrop and listen to what they really have to say about it.

"...four months we gave her, and she didn't even use them to find a college on her own," Mom says, hotly. "This is what I mean when I say we can't let her go out in the real world. She needs to know the right way and the wrong way to living, and she's constantly choosing the wrong way."

"Sweetie, that's a part of growing up," Dad mentions. "Of course she'll choose the wrong way. No one's perfect, so we shouldn't expect her to be perfect either."

"We also expect her not to be constantly wrong," Mom argues. "She keeps this up and we will have that discussion about that family living in the basement. It's the matter of time and the choices she makes before we get there."

Dad finally speaks up when I'm close to walking in on them and slapping her. "I'm sure she'll be fine. We'll find another way to ensure she's on the path she wants and that she'll be fine on her own."

"Of course," Mom agrees, after a silent moment of reluctance. Another moment passes before she concludes, "I'll call the school tomorrow and have us meet with Niamh for her future."

For the second time today, my heart stops beating. I find myself hard to breathe as I process what I just heard. Hell, I return to my room so if I end up passing out, I can do that on my bed.

Mr. Timmons still thinks I don't want Mom and Dad involved because of how busy they are. I doubt he would understand if I explained to him how the less involved they are, the happier I would be. That call would unravel some nasty shit. 

The thoughts keep rolling in my mind even as my breathing evens out. What's a way I can prevent this from snowballing? How can I make sure this wouldn't end up being a Shakespearean tragedy, complete with dick jokes?

The only answer my room has is to escape from one world into another with the books. Mom and Dad definitely don't have anything. I'm not sure how Aspen would help. I don't know what to do.

Except, possibly, breaking the law.