Page 65 of Solitude

5

SUMMER ‘24

Winnie

I didn’t wakeup on the first Saturday of summer hoping for the surprise of my life, but there’s only so much a girl can do when she’s locked herself in the bathroom for over an hour with the sink faucet on full blast to block out the sobs racking her body.

Dramatic? Maybe.

Necessary? Absolutely.

Beck comes home today, and while I should be excited about that, I can’t help the sinking feeling in my gut. My fingers find the thin gold ring that’s hanging on a simple chain around my neck and a fresh wave of tears streams down my face.

Oh hell.

I stand up and look at myself in the mirror. My blonde hair is shorter than usual after I decided to chop a coupleof inches off randomly. Now I feel scalped and a bit wild because it’s not laying the same way as before.

There’s a wavy curl to it now that some of the weight is gone, and while I have always envied Gwen’s naturally textured hair, I don’t actually like it on myself after all. It just looks frizzy and unkempt to me, and as a girl who’s never done much more than run a brush through her hair, now I’m being forced to break out a straightener or curling iron to tame the mane.

So that’s my first reason to have a mental breakdown in my bathroom.

Reason number two is the fact that my favorite pair of cutoff denim shorts won’t button. That sounds so ridiculous and trivial, but they’re my comfort shorts. Those shorts have been with me for three summers, and I’m not ready to part with them just yet. Those shorts have been with me through girlhood, and they’re supposed to follow me into womanhood. It feels like letting a piece of myself go, so I shoved my ever-expanding hips into them and sucked in my bloated belly with a huff, ignoring the fraying edges that snag on my toes.

Then I ripped them.

To say I squalled is a bit of an understatement.

Which brings me to the third, and final, reason I’m locked in the bathroom having a breakdown to rival all breakdowns when I should be prepping and excitedly baking a dozen cupcakes and cookies for Beck’s arrival into town soon.

My eyes drop to the little stick on the counter, and afresh wave of tears sting my cheeks as a sob rips from my chest as I flip it over again.

Two pink lines stare back at me, and just like the first time I looked at the results, I slam the test back onto the counter with the test window down. I don’t want to look at it any more.

My reflection is a mess. Puffy eyes; red, splotchy cheeks; and snot coat my face, which ultimately only makes me feel worse. Pair that with my ripped cutoffs I refuse to take off right now, and I’m sure people three counties over are wincing in sympathy.

I turn nineteen tomorrow.

Happy birthday to me, I guess?

My phone dings beside me, and I wipe my face as I pick it up.

Gwen

Where are you?

I’m dying, Gwen. My life is falling apart, and I can’t come into work today because of it. Nothing is going right, and that alone has to be a bad omen. I need to just crawl back in bed and try again tomorrow.

I’m not coming in. I’m actually dying.

I should’ve known better than to say that to Gwen though because the next moment she’s calling my cellphone, the loud trill making my head pound harder than it already has been.

“Hi.”

Gwen huffs into the receiver. “Hi? Talk to me, Win. You never call out.”

I chew my thumbnail, wondering what I should say. This is Gwen though. My best friend. My ride or die. Gwen has been more of a friend to me than anyone, and she’s been my confidant throughout my relationship with Beck, my falling out with my parents, and my listlessness in Magnolia Hollow.

So it’s not surprising that in the end, my tears decide for me, and the truth spews out of me at an alarming rate. Gwen doesn’t say anything as I babble and rant and confess my stupidity, which probably sounds a bit waterlogged and garbled through my crying and sniffling.

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