“Leave me alone!” Samantha yells.
I bury my head in my hands as the tears come again.
“They just got her out the back door,” the night staff woman says into the phone. “Send someone up for Jasmine too.”
12
Ever since the party, I’ve been forced to come home right after school—no exceptions. The day after, Mom told me I was grounded until she felt like I had actually learned something. I didn’t bother asking how she would know; I just vowed to do whatever she said. But I wonder what this means for the carnival. Deanna made it sound so fun, and I really want to go.
Kayla feels bad for convincing me to go to the party and has been hanging out with me at home more often. It hits me that she really doesn’t know the same version of my mom that I do. She thought things were just going to blow over.
Not so much.
I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor in my room doing homework when I hear a loud crash downstairs. My mom is the only other person home.
“Mom?” I call out. “Are you okay?” No response.
I sigh and get up, making my way to the top of the staircase. Listening closer, I hear my mom cursing under her breath. I walk down the steps to find her leaning against the fridge with her hands on her hips, a pile of steel bowls scattered at her feet. I bend down to pick them up.
“No, leave them. I’ll get them,” she says.
“I got them,” I say, grabbing the bowls before she can. I’vebeen trying to show her that I am helpful and responsible, despite what she may think.
“Just put them in the sink and I’ll wash them,” she says.
“I got it, Mom. What’s wrong?” I ask.
She sighs and takes a seat at the counter, pushingBreakfast at Tiffany’sand her iPad aside so she can put her head down.
“Oh right, you have that book club today. Are you hosting?” I glance around the empty kitchen.
She groans into the countertop, and I take that as a yes. Kayla told me that some of the moms in the neighborhood started a book club a while back as an excuse to drink wine and get away from their kids. They host at each other’s houses and take turns selecting books they don’t really read. It’s supposed to be fun, but by the looks of my mom right now, it doesn’t seem all that light and carefree.
“The caterer canceled, and I didn’t have enough time to place a new order before I left the hospital,” she says, lifting her head. She looks like a disappointed kid.
I haven’t seen her this nervous maybe ever. Most of my mom’s friends in Lorial were her coworkers, other nurses she naturally spent all her time with. They weren’t the book club crowd—their idea of fun was coming over to drink margaritas and watchThe Real Housewives.They laughed loudly and gossiped too much, but I’m pretty sure my mom would rather be doing that right now.
“What was the order? Can we make it?” I ask.
“I wish, but we don’t have time even if we wanted to.” Her phone rings and I see Travis’s name light up the screen.
“Hi, baby. It’s all right, you couldn’t know. I’m probably just going to cancel,” she says. My mom “mmhmm”s in response to whatever he’s saying, then tells him that I’m here with her. They exchange “I love you”s before hanging up.
“Sorry, honey. What did you ask me? Oh, what did I order?” She grabs her iPad and taps the screen. A page with the wordCANCELEDin big red letters appears and she gets annoyed all over again.
“I ordered crustless tea sandwiches, blueberry scones, and these delicious lemon sugar cookies frosted Tiffany blue for a souvenir,” she says, pointing to the book. “I should call everyone now and tell them it’s off. Hopefully two hours is enough time for people to make other plans,” she adds with a grimace.
“No! Let’s make something,” I insist. My mom might be the only parent in the book club who works and doesn’t have help, so I want her to show that she can do it all. I know she can.
“Jasmine, please,” she says. “It’s too late. What would we even make?”
I pull open the fridge and freezer. “Breakfast is the theme, right?”
“It was, yes,” she says cautiously, clearly wondering where I’m going with this.
“Okay, well, look.” I pull out two big boxes of waffles and push them toward her on the counter. She pushes them back. I add Cool Whip, strawberries, jam, and maple syrup. “And these!” I say with more excitement than I anticipated.
She looks confused.
