Page 86 of Learning Curve

She’s always been better at the hard stuff than me.

Including our mom.

A couple weeks ago, while I was at home for Thanksgiving, she told me she’d started talking to our mom again. That she was sober, faithfully attending AA, and really turning a corner. It’s a tale as old as time, though, and I’ve been having a really hard time believing in these particular fairies.

There are so many ugly memories and traumas tied into everything I’ve ever known with her. When I was two, she left me strapped in a car seat in a hot car, and the only reason I survived is because my seven-year-old sister—who had been left home by herself for hours—walked outside to look for me when Mom passed out on the sofa.

In the early days of our childhood, Mom hid her alcohol consumption from our father—which wasn’t hard since he worked so much. But as we got older, it became too obvious for her to hide.

Me: I’m just having a hard time understanding while you believe her this time.

Wren: Well, there’s always a risk. I mean, we both know that. But she really seems different.

Wren: I understand if you’re not ready, tho. That’s why I’ve been trying to give you some space to process.

Since my sister is five years older than me, I know there’s a lot more shit that she can remember than I can—the only reason I know about the hot car story is because of Wren—and yet, somehow, she’s finding a way to move on.

Maybe I need to find a way to move on, too.

Me: I’ll think about it, okay? I’ve had a lot going on, and this on top of it feels like a lot.

Wren: Take your time, Scottie B. Love you.

Me: Love you too.

I set my phone back down to finally fix my mascara, but the damn thing starts vibrating again with another message before I’ve even gotten the smudge wiped off.

Julia: Where you at? Kayla and I are waiting for you outside Delta Omega.

I glance at the time on my phone and realize I’ve completely lost track of time. Shit!

Me: I’m running a little behind, but I’m almost walking out my door now.

I’m using the term almost lightly here. The fact that I’m currently wearing only a bra and underwear is proof of that.

Julia: Okay! The party is super crowded, tho, so we’re just going to wait outside for you to get here or I fear you’ll never find us. Kayla says hurry so her tits don’t freeze off. LOL.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I mutter as I hop into action. I rummage through my messy closet until I find a pair of jeans, my favorite cream sweater, and a pair of boots that give me a few extra inches in height.

It’s not necessarily the look I was planning for a Christmas-themed sorority party, but beggars can’t be choosers.

I toss on my clothes, taking special care with pulling my cream sweater over my makeup-covered face, and take one ten-second glance in the mirror.

A little fluff of my hair and a quick reapply of lipstick, I decide this is as good as it’s going to get, and I grab my purse and keys and jog out the door.

Luck is on my side when an empty elevator is waiting for me—I guess everyone else is already out for the night—and I don’t waste any time stepping on and heading to the ground floor.

All stress aside, celebration is in order! And I’ve got a whole campus to cross to get there.

Scottie

By the time I speed walk up Broadway and make it onto 120th Street, I’m covered in a layer of sweat that gives the frigid December air a run for its money. Thankfully, I still have a few blotting papers left in my purse from my last outing, and I quickly dab one on my face as I cross the street toward the Delta Omega house in the distance.

I see Julia and Kayla standing outside, shivering in holiday-themed skirts and heels, and I cringe when Kayla shouts, “If my tits have frostbite, I’m sending you the bill for my plastic surgeon!”

“I’m so sorry!” I call toward them as I close the distance. “I was texting with my sister, and I lost track of time.”

“How about we save the apologies for inside?” Kayla suggests, and I wrap my arm around her shoulders on a laugh.

---