The room went cold. A horrible thought bloomed in my chest. She wouldn’t. But I knew she would.
“Do you know where my keys are?” I asked, forcing my voice to stay level.
“Maybe,” she said, like she was commenting on the weather.
I dug deep for patience that I didn’t feel. “Do you possibly know where my phone is, too?”
She simply nodded
“Can I have them back?” I asked, still trying to keep my voice steady, even though I already knew the answer.
“No,” she said simply.
Like that was the end of the discussion.
“Give me back my things,” I said, my voice cracking as I finally lost the battle to stay calm.
“I can’t do that,” she replied. “You’ve been making bad choices lately, and as your mother, it’s my job to make sure you don’t mess up your life . . . or Ava’s.”
“What do you know about the choices I’ve been making?” I shot back. “You haven’t been speaking to me or Ava, which is fucked up.”
“Language,” she said coolly, like that was the real problem here.
I turned away, heart pounding, trying to figure out how I could get out of the house. No phone meant no Alex, no Becca, no Uber.
Nothing.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
I was going to have to reason with her.
“Mom,” I said, forcing my voice to stay calm, “I will come back, and we can talk about this. But I really have somewhere important to be.”
She didn’t even look at me. Just turned and walked away.
I followed her down the hallway. “Mom, please. I have to get there.”
She spun around, and for the first time, her composure cracked.
“Why?” she snapped. “So you can skate with all those people? Be with a man who can’t take care of you or Ava? I don’t like this life for you. You deserve better. You cannot move in with him. I won’t allow it.”
“Won’t allow it?” I scoffed. “I’m a full-grown woman and a mother. You are not in charge of me. This means a lot to me. And we’re not moving in with him. We’re moving into an apartment next door.”
She made a sound like that was just as bad.
“Don’t do this,” she said. “Please.”
“I will miss my first game,” I said, my voice breaking. “I’ve been practicing so hard.”
I glanced at the clock.
Thirty minutes until the bout started.
I was supposed to be there, dressed and ready, right now.
And I was standing in a hallway, begging my own mother to let me live my life.
“I’m sorry it came to this,” she said coolly. “We’ll talk when you’re calmer. But believe it or not, I’m doing this for your own good. You’re grounded.”
