Lily's Summer of Precarious Happenings

Prologue

"Mom, I don't want to go."

I sat on the edge of my unmade bed, watching the flurry of colors fly through the air and making a sloppy landing near my open suitcase.  My mother didn't reply, all too busy raiding my drawers and muttering occasionally about how many articles of clothing remain relatively unworn.  

"Can you please listen to me?"

She looked at me for a moment, an unreadable expression stretched across her features.  My heart sank, and I looked at my feet, already knowing the answer.  "We need to get out of town," she had told me just last night in a wine-induced stupor.  At the time I had agreed, partially because a vacation sounded amazing but mostly just so I could get her into bed to sleep off everything she had downed in the hours prior.  

Now it was my turn to be in stupor, except it was because my mother had barged into my room at six in the morning, determined to get to the airport.  

I wanted to ask how she wasn't hungover, although she would probably reply with some cheesy Pinterest slogan like, "There's nothing a woman scorned can't do."  That would make me silently debate the grammatical accuracy, and thus my question would remain unanswered.

For the past month, this was how my mother and I conversed.  I had turned into something of a live-in nurse, except the only thing my patient would allow me to do was clumsily shuffle her drunken self into bed every evening.  Each morning I would bring her breakfast, and quietly leave a glass of water and some Advil by the bed.  

My high school graduation was last week, and I didn't walk.  My mother said I would regret it, but the last thing I wanted to do was parade myself in front of the entire town and hear their whispers and silent judgement about my private-turned-public family matters. 

Besides, the last six months had been hell, and I had no desire to celebrate anything.

I sighed, getting up from my warm and inviting bed.  "Mom, let me."  I gently grabbed her shoulders and led her to sit down where I had been, neatly grabbing some clothes and walking them to my suitcase.  "Did you even sleep last night?"

"Maybe? I can't remember.  I drank some coffee after you fell asleep."

"How much coffee?"

She shrugged, "A few cups, maybe?"

"And when's our flight?" 

"A few hours." She gave me a sheepish grin, and I shook my head, letting out another sigh.  Any other just-graduated teenager would find the idea of a last second cross-country adventure exciting, but if I stopped to think about it, all I felt was an impending sense of dread.

So, I didn't stop to think about it.

"I take it you've already packed up your stuff?" 

My mother nodded, a gleam of excitement flashing across her eyes.  I hadn't seen her like this in a while, and her newfound motivation made all this madness worth it.  "First, I called your Uncle Oliver.  He said we could come right away.  I spent the rest of the night packing my clothes and the rest of the house.  I wanted to give you some rest."

"Great, so we're staying with some strangers by the name of Aunt and Uncle," I muttered under my breath, zipping up my suitcase.  

"Lil, you're going to love them. And San Diego is beautiful." 

Ah, yes.  My Aunt Imogen and Uncle Oliver lived in some beach town in San Diego.  Admittedly, the idea sparked a little bit of excitement, but the weight of reality wouldn't let my head get too far in the clouds.

"Okay," She stood up suddenly, clapping her hands together. "We have to leave for the airport in less than an hour.  Pack up whatever else you need.  If you forget anything, I'm sure my brother can supply it."

"Mom, it's not like they're made of money."

My mother gave me an all-too coy smile, "Pack up! I want to grab coffee on the way."  With that, she exited my bedroom, humming a tune I hadn't heard from her in years.  Aside from all the anxiety and potential misery this trip was bringing me, the dim light in the distance was materializing as my mother finally coming alive again.  It felt like we had spent the last half of the year drowning slowly, floundering for some sort of grasp onto a future where there was hope for a kinder reality.  This ridiculous whim seemed to be the life raft tossed to my mom, and she was all too happy to climb on board.  I, on the other hand, had learned to be a little bit more tentative about these things.

I spent the next hour packing the rest of my necessary belongings, which was pretty sparse.  My laptop, headphones and toiletries all went in my carry on, and everything else was left behind.  We would be back, after all, so all my knick-knacks and winter clothes could stay in their spots. 

Living in San Diego for the summer made me a little anxious for more than one reason.  So I sat on my bed and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen.  I had taken to writing pro's and con's lists whenever I felt like I had a million emotions swirling in my head at once.  

It helped me define the most prominent feelings, and understand why exactly I felt that way.  Maybe my lists were my own kind of coping mechanism, while my mother had taken to drinking.  I never liked alcohol that much, anyway.

I quickly scribbled down my list, quietly reading it to myself.

"Cons: Leaving my home town.  I won't know anyone.  I'll have to leave all my friends.  Living with relatives I don't know.  What do people in San Diego even dress like?"  I laughed quietly at my last note.  Coming from Wisconsin, I was admittedly a little worried if I would stick out like a sore thumb.

"Pros:  No one will know about my dad.  Maybe I'll like the beach? I don't have any friends here.  Potentially could spend the summer not talking to anyone.  Could change my identity and never come back.  Hot California boys." 

"Lily! You better be done, we're leaving now!"

I cursed inaudibly and ran my hand lightly over the ink-filled indentations on the paper.  Well, atleast one side outnumbered the other.  It's not like I had a choice in this random trip anyway.  

Ripping out the sheet of paper, I left it crumpled on my bed and shoved the rest of the pad into my carry-on.  Something told me that this summer I would need my lists to keep me sane.  It was the only way I found to keep my mind from being swept away in the tumultuous waters that my life had become.

"I'm coming!" 

I grabbed my black suitcase, threw my carry-on tote over my shoulder and threw one last wistful glance towards my childhood bedroom.  I knew I would be home again, but all the unknown possibilities awaiting me were forming a heavy knot in the pit of my stomach.  

Whatever happened, at least I had my mom.