Page 34 of Heartstrings & Horizons
“Paige?”
“Yeah, Mom. It’s me.”
“Paige, what the hell are you wearing?”
I look down at my denim skirt that stops less than an inch abovethe knee, in compliance with the school’s dress code, and my simple white v-neck t-shirt that shows a hint of cleavage, an unfortunate side effect of developing early. I’ve had boobs since the 3rd grade and there’s no containing them, no matter how hard I try.
“What do you mean? It’s just a skirt and a t-shirt.” I respond, but I already know what’s coming next, and I’m not proven wrong.
“You know white isn’t your color and you’re showing way too much skin.” What she really means to say is I’m too much. Too chunky, too busty — I take up too much space. I know it’s due, at least in part, to my mom’s own insecurities. She has a habit of projecting them onto me, but it hurts nonetheless.
“Ok… well, I just wanted to ask what Dad is doing up the road. I thought he was supposed to be off to take me to my skating lessons today.”
Dad works in carpentry and I can’t keep track of all of his job sites. Last I heard he was helping renovate one of the local hotels out by the mall, but it’s been a while.
“What do you mean?” Mom asks, a look of confusion flashing across her face.
“I saw Dad’s car on my walk home. He’s parked like 2 blocks away.”
Mom’s face pales and her eyes shine for a second before she composes herself and something I can only describe as rage takes over her body. She snags her keys up off the entryway table and takes off out the door. I don’t have time to unpack everything that just happened because I have to get ready for skating.
I’m pulling on my spandex practice skirt over my nude tights when mom storms back into the house. I hear her let out a disgruntled sound as she charges through the hallway past my room followed by the unmistakable rustle of trash bags.
I step out into the hallway to a discomforting sight. Mom is standing at their armoire, ripping clothes out, shoving them into trash bags. Once she’sdone there, she moves on to the closet and repeats the process. I’m rooted to the doorway, unable to move.
“Mom?”
“WHAT?” she screeches in response.
“What’s going on?”
She resumes her rampage and ignores me, grabbing 2 of the bags and shoving past me towards the stairs and out the front door. Her face is red and streaked with mascara. She makes 2 more trips up and down the stairs and out to the car when she finally pokes her head into my room.
“Let’s go,” she snarls.
“Are you dropping me off today? Where’s dad?”
“You’re probably not going today. Get in the car.”
“But I have a competition in a week. I can’t miss practice.”
“Quit your whining, Paige. Get. In. The. Car.”
I inhale a shaky breath, willing the tears not to fall. Once I’m in the car, she slowly backs out of our usual parking spot and pulls onto the side street. Moments later, we pull up to a familiar house; the same one Dad was parked at earlier. He’s in the driveway wearing his usual work clothes, tool belt and hardhat, but there doesn’t seem to be any construction going on or even any other workers. Odd.
Mom rips open her car door and steps out, rounding the back to pop open the trunk when she grabs several of the trash bags and dumps them at dad’s feet. I’m still sitting silently in the car, my body shaking uncontrollably when I see the looks on their faces. Dad’s brows are furrowed, his mouth drawn into a straight line as mom repeatedly jabs her finger into his chest. I can hear muffled shouting, but I can’t make out any words. She shoves him in the chest and returns to the car to grab the remaining bags, dumping them with the others. Dad catches sight of me in the passenger seat then, his eyes shining with unshed tears at the sight of my own tear-stained cheeks. He hangs his head, turns towards the house, and stalks away without a glance back in my direction.
Mom gets back in the car without a single word, driving me to the rink like nothing happened. My lesson was a disaster. I don’t land a single axel and I can’t center my spins at all. I’m completely off my axis, right down to my very soul. I don’t know what happened. Mom won’t talk about it, but I saw enough to know that nothing is ever going to be the same again.
The familiar notes of Christmas music drift over the speakers as the hustle and bustle of last minute shoppers mill about the Northbrook Mall. It’s been three weeks since my spontaneous proposal and I am officially a college dropout with a brand new fiancé.
After my conversation with Maggie, I consulted an academic advisor and dropped out of my remaining courses. Truthfully, I was already failing several of them after I missed multiple assignments due, in no small part, to the state of my mental health. My people-pleasing tendencies tried to rear their ugly heads, but I persevered and, for quite possibly the first time in my life, I made a decision solely based on what I wanted.
Being back in my hometown feels like trying to breathe under a weighted blanket, stifling every attempt to come up for air. The ever present weight of familiarity hovering over me like a phantom.
I still needed to pick out the perfect Christmas gift for Nana so, against my better judgment, I ventured out to the mall the day before Christmas and I was now having deep-seated regrets. Even the dulcet tones of Canadian treasure Michael Buble can’t ease my anxiety.
Eager to complete this side quest and get the hell out of dodge, I make a b-line straight for the HomeGoods. When it comes to Nana, anything that makes her time in the kitchen more enjoyable is a home run. I pick out a large serving bowl featuring an intricate vibrant red design, a large handled cutting board, a set of cheese knives, and an apron that says “Mangia!” Content with my haul, I venture over to the local market to pick out some items to prepare the antipasti for dinner then hop on the next city bus to Nana’s house, with my bags in tow.
