I took a step back from the telescope and looked at the volunteer. Pursing my lips, I decided he was just trying to do small talk. And I could do small talk.
I laughed softly. “Right, but it would still be peaceful.”
He smiled. “Yeah, for sure.”
The small talk was over when another woman started asking him questions, and so I left, heading back outside. The parking lot had thinned out, and only a few people were still around. I wasn’t ready to go just yet, so I sat back down on an empty bench to enjoy the rest of the quiet night.
The silence didn’t last long when it got interrupted by my phone ringing.
There weren’t many people who could be calling me, and I always turned it into a game.
It was either my mother or my best friend, Holland, and tonight, I was hoping it would be Holland.
Okay, I hoped it was Hollandeverytime my phone rang.
I reached into my tote bag and pulled out my phone, whispering, “Please let it be Holland, please let it be Holland.” But when I looked at the screen, I was disappointed to see my mother’s name at the top.
“Son of a biscuit,” I muttered with a roll of my eyes. Before picking up, I took a deep breath to prepare for the conversation I was about to have with my very egotistical mother. I accepted the call and lifted the phone to my ear. “Hello.”
“Lana,” she said, her voice too cheerful. “How are you, honey?”
“I’m fine.”
She paused, expecting me to ask how she was doing, and when I didn’t say more, she lowered her tone in that fake casual way she used when she wanted something. “How’s Callan? Have you seen him around?”
I stared out at the city, wondering why every time I was in a state of peace, she somehow knew and ruined it. “Yeah. He’s home.”
“Did he ask about me?” she said quickly. “Does he miss me?”
I closed my eyes, deciding to ignore her questions. “Mom, where are you?”
“Why? You sound like my mother now,” she replied, her voice annoyed and mocking.
Deep breaths, Lana. Deep breaths.
“Because you left me there,” I said quietly. “And you haven’t called in four weeks.”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic. You’re not a kid. You’re in college. You’re fine.”
I said nothing because, well, what was I supposed to say to that?
You’re right, Mom, I’m all good living alone in a house where your still-husband films his porn movies and steals my food?
Nothing would change this situation.
“Anyway,” she continued, “tell him I’m doing well. Maybe…slip it into conversation.”
“I’m not doing that,” I said flatly.
She sighed, and for a second, I thought she might sound like a real mother, but then she said, “You always make things harder than they need to be.”
I watched the city again, the lights blurring as my eyes watered.
Stop that.
No crying.
Not over her.
