Page 72 of Never Have I Ever
We all laugh at Gabi’s theatrics, but in the back of my mind, I keep thinking about tomorrow, dreading going to New York, dealing with everything I’m trying to run from.
23
Mother of pearls
Rosalie
My tongue runs over my lips as I take a sip of my mojito.
I look over my shoulder seeing my mother in the corner, surrounded by three other women, all carrying pearls around their necks. They probably cost more than the tuition I paid to Redfield.
She’s distracted. That’s perfect. I turn back around and down the drink. If my mother sees me drinking, I’ll no doubt get an earful, but I need something to take the edge off.
She’s been after me all evening. I got on the flight less than five hours ago, and now I’m surrounded by people I’ve been trying to escape for the past five months.
I don’t belong here. I might have once upon a time, but I know this isn’t the place for me. I don’t want this to be my life, and I don’t want to become my mother.
I let out a breath as I swirl the now-empty glass in my hand. I’ve been trying to hide in the corner of the room ever since I got here.
“Rosalie.” My mother calls from the other end of the room. I turn and am met with eyes all looking at me as she hauls me over. “Come here,” she calls out.
I sigh and make my way over to my mother and her friends. I smile and greet the other women. They barely register a ‘hmm’ my way, but I don’t take it personally.
“Rosalie, you’ve grown up so much,” my sister-in-law, Sarah, says. My eyes drift to her round belly. She's almost six months pregnant. I didn't even know they were having a baby until tonight. That's how much my brother and I talk. I can count the number of times on one hand that I've talked to him since he moved out. My brother and I grew up in the same house, but with a seven-year age gap, we were practically strangers living together.
“Yes,” my mother says. “She’s old enough to start her own family.” She smiles down at me, and I resist the urge to grimace. I can’t imagine having a baby this early. My mother got married and pregnant straight after high school, but that isn’t me. I don’t want a family for a long, long time.
My mother points to the woman closest to her. She looks just like my mother, blonde hair, blue eyes, and high cheekbones. Ears and chest covered in jewels. The only difference is my mother doesn’t have a botched Botox.
“This is Beth.” My mother says. “Remember I was telling you about her son?” I barely nod at the woman in front of me as she looks me up and down, no doubt trying to figure out if she thinks I’m good enough for her son. Well, there’s nothing to worry about. I’m not interested.
“Jackson, come here,” Beth calls out to her left, and I turn to see a tall man with bright blue eyes smile as he walks into the huddle of my mother’s friends. He flashes a smile, and I smile back. He’s definitely attractive and young, as opposed to the other men my mother’s been trying to set me up with tonight. Though, I’m still not interested.
He grins. “You must be Rosalie.”
I nod. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Rosalie goes to Redfield,” Beth tells her son, who seems to like that, as opposed to my mother, who freezes. Her shoulders tense up as she takes a sip of her drink, trying not to let it show that she still feels affected by my attending college.
I wish I could understand why. I don’t get it. Most parents would be thrilled their child got into an ivy league, but not my mother.
“Really?” Jackson says, raising his eyebrows. “I went to Redfield. It was a great school.”
“You did?” I ask.
“Yep. Graduated with honors,” Beth says, smiling at her son. I glance at my mother, seeing her avoid me. I wish she would act happy for me.
“You and Jackson should catch up. Go on,” my mother interrupts.
He lets out a laugh. “You want to go get a drink?” he asks me.
I turn to my mother, and her face is red, but she doesn’t try to get involved or tell him how I’m still under the drinking age. She just turns back around to talk to her friends. My mother must really want me to talk to Jackson if she’s willing to let me drink.
Jackson and I walk over to the drinks table where I was previously trying to hide out from this exact thing happening, but Jackson doesn’t seem too bad.
He fills up my cup with champagne and hands it to me, and fills up one for himself. I take a sip, loving how the bubbles hit my tongue.
“So, what do you study?” Jackson asks.
