Page 20 of Regretting Youu

Chapter Four

Clara

I probably shouldn’t have called my mother predictable last night, because this is the first time in a long time that I’ve woken up for school and didn’t find her in the kitchen cooking breakfast.

Maybe I should apologize, because I’m starving.

I find her in the living room, still in her pajamas, watching an episode of Real Housewives. “What’s for breakfast?”

“I didn’t feel like cooking. Eat a Pop-Tart.”

Definitely shouldn’t have called her predictable.

My father walks through the living room, straightening out his tie. He pauses when he sees my mother lying on the couch. “You feeling okay?”

My mother rolls her head so that she’s looking up at us from her comfy position on the couch. “I’m fine. I just didn’t feel like making breakfast.”

When she gives her attention back to the television, Dad and I look at each other. He raises a brow before walking over to her and pressing a quick kiss on her forehead. “See you tonight. Love you.”

“Love you too,” she says.

I follow my dad into the kitchen. I grab the Pop-Tarts and hand him one. “I think it’s my fault.”

“That she didn’t cook breakfast?”

I nod. “I told her she was predictable last night.”

Dad’s nose scrunches up. “Oh. Yeah, that wasn’t nice.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way. She asked me to describe her using one word, and it’s the first thing that came to mind.”

He pours himself a cup of coffee and leans against the counter in thought. “I mean . . . you aren’t wrong. She does like routine.”

“Wakes up at six every morning. Breakfast is ready by seven.”

“Dinner at seven thirty every night,” he says.

“Rotating menu.”

“Gym at ten every morning.”

“Grocery shopping on Mondays,” I add.

“Sheets get washed every Wednesday.”

“See?” I say in defense. “She’s predictable. It’s more of a fact than an insult.”

“Well,” he says, “there was that one time we came home, and she’d left a note saying she went to the casino with Jenny.”

“I remember that. We thought she’d been kidnapped.”

We really did think that. It was so unlike her to take a spontaneous overnight trip without planning months in advance, so we called both of them just to make sure she was the one who wrote the note.

My father laughs as he pulls me in for a hug. I love his hugs. He wears the softest white button-up shirts to work, and sometimes when his arms are around me, it’s like being wrapped in a cozy blanket. Only that blanket smells of the outdoors, and it sometimes disciplines you. “I need to get going.” He releases me and pulls at my hair. “Have fun at school.”

“Have fun at work.”

I follow him out of the kitchen to find Mom no longer on the couch but standing in front of the television. She’s pointing the remote at the TV screen. “The cable just froze.”