Page 113 of The Unraveling

It didn’t look like an unusual call, i.e., the company calling to save me from a terrible life, so I sat back down and put the music back on.

Two or three minutes later, I felt the air on my body cool and blinked, shielding my eyes to see that my mom was standing in front of the sun, casting a shadow onto me.

Immediately, I was annoyed, sure that she was going to give me shit for using the hose and wasting water, when the drip by the end of the coil was only a little tiny bit of—

That was when I noticed she was crying. Hand at her mouth.

Oh my god.

I tore out my earbuds and then demanded, “What’s wrong? It’s not Mimi. Right? Is—”

My mom shook her head, catching her breath. “That was the North American Ballet.”

My heart stopped. This was it. I knew it already. I knew I didn’t get chosen. I just knew, deep down in my soul, that the moment of devastation was directly before me. I almost wanted a time machine. To delay the inevitable.

But another part of me wanted her to rip off the Band-Aid. Just to tell me they’d rejected me so that I could get on with figuring out what the fuck to do with the rest of my life. And how.

“And?” I asked, my fear making my voice sound irritated and disinterested.

She nodded and said, “They want you.”

My heart started back up, now working overtime.

“Shut up.”

“I’m not kidding,” she said.

“Are you fucking serious?” I stood, both hands at my mouth. “Are you serious right now?”

She nodded again, still crying. “You’re going to New York, baby.”

I let out a breath I could swear I’d been holding my whole life, and then screamed and ran to her. We hugged hard and long, both of us crying, neither of us caring that I was covered in hose water and sweat.

“We have to celebrate!” said my mom. “What do you want for dinner? Do you want to go out to a restaurant? Make something here? What do you want? Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything. Let’s not worry about the diet or anything like that tonight. Just having fun. You earned this. We earned this.”

I bristled a little at the use of we, but then answered her question. “I want to go have tacos at Mimi’s house. The kind she makes.”

I saw a small flit of something in her eyes, but then she smiled and said, “I’ll call her right now.”

“No, let me, I want to tell her.”

I ran inside and called Mimi, hardly able to say the words, afraid that when I said them, my mom would burst into laughter and say gotcha!

I knew my mom wouldn’t do that. She’d never fuck with me like that. It was an irrational fear.

Mimi was overjoyed and told us to come over at seven, she’d get a bottle of champagne.

I felt completely out of my skin when I hung up with her, finally calming down just enough to get the details from my mom. I asked a million questions.

When do I leave?

Do I have a roommate?

What do I bring?

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