Page 19 of Of Literature and Lattes
She stalled before it and touched the smoothed bump of blue at its edge. Home. Yellow light caught her eye. The sun was back out, and beams of liquid sunshine spilled into the hallway. She’d forgotten how much yellow her room cast in the sunshine. Although the rug was white, the bedcovers white, the trim white, and the roman shades a blue floral print, the yellow walls bathed everything in a warm glow. It was a happy room, a sanctuary.
She crossed the white carpet, noting that nothing new had stained it in fifteen years. The only mark was the faint smudge from a blue pen that had exploded in ninth grade. Glancing around, her eyes struck upon memories—so many good. Most good, in fact. Pictures of friends. Makeup in dishes still sat on her dresser, dried now, but oh-so-important back then, especially the colored mascara. Lexi’s cheerleading poms were still tucked behind the corners of her bulletin board. Alyssa had taken them one night from her best friend and never returned them. She pulled them down now and liked how their soft rustle filled her silent room. Pens on her desk. Three Mason jars full. She’d forgotten how many she owned and how she’d written her notes in a rainbow of colors throughout high school and college. Red for lectures, green for readings, blue for original thoughts, purple for connections and correlations, black for the answer to any problem—in English, math, science, or history.
She pulled open her dresser drawer and cringed at the graphic T-shirts and prairie tops she found there. The next drawer held jeans and a couple pairs of cargo pants, one with a pink camo pattern. The early 2000s had been an odd time for fashion, she thought. Yet as she looked down at her own clothes—ones she’d been wearing since everything in her car was stolen in Rawlins—she decided she’d had enough. Odd or not, she pulled out the camo pants and a tight white cropped T-shirt with capped sleeves, pleased she could still fit into them. She looked in the mirror and, noting the dish of tiny hair clips, piled her hair into her signature high school style, a high ponytail with clips pulling back the bangs and sides.
“You look good.”
Alyssa spun with a yelp. “What are you doing here? You scared me.”
Janet’s eyes were bright and clear and danced with laughter. The look startled Alyssa more than the interruption. Was it size? Shape? Color? Alyssa dismissed each as she questioned. Nothing was different. Yet she hardly recognized her mom’s eyes. Something new was igniting them from within.
But whatever it was, it was gone in the flash it took for her mom’s gaze to lock on hers. Her expression changed, and the light vanished. “I’m sorry. I assumed you heard me come up the stairs.”
Alyssa thought she heard a note of contrition, but that didn’t fit. Janet had never been one to show embarrassment, regret, or self-reproach. As far as her mother was concerned, Alyssa firmly believed, a good offense made for the only defense.
And Alyssa was her mother’s daughter.
“I didn’t,” she snapped. She hadn’t intended her words to carry such aggression, but rather than pull back, she let her harsh notes drift between them. She felt her pulse pick up its pace to prepare for battle as words—most unkind and rude—filled her head.
Yet even as the words flooded her brain, she also felt a skipped beat in her heart. The longing that she’d felt leaning into her dad’s hug, the sense of camaraderie she’d felt staring up at Andante’s tall owner, overwhelmed her with the undeniable truth that she yearned for such a connection with this person too. Her mom. It was a pulled-inside-out, laid-bare feeling. She glanced down to her twisting hands and tried to still them.
“I came home early because your dad said you were moving in with me today.” Janet gestured into the room. “I washed your sheets yesterday to make sure they were fresh, but then when you didn’t—”
“He called you?” Alyssa cut her off.
“He calls me every day.” Janet spoke softly, slowly, as if trying to share with her something more than mere facts.
“How’d you convince him to forget what you did? How’d you do it?”
“I didn’t convince your dad of anything, Alyssa, and he’ll never forget. Neither will I.”
Janet stepped into the center of the room. Her perfume filled the space. It was rich and floral, the height of spring tipping to summer, filled with jasmine, lily, and sunshine. Then a vanilla note reached Alyssa—the base note that grounded all the others and brought them home. This home. Alyssa stepped forward before she caught herself, and stepped back twice to make up for her lapse.
Janet smiled and gestured to Alyssa’s outfit.
Alyssa looked down and could only imagine how silly she looked. She pulled at the T-shirt, trying to create space between herself and it, trying to create distance from the girl she had been to the strong woman she thought she had become.
“Dad also mentioned your car was broken into and that you lost all your stuff. Not that you don’t fit into those.” Janet smiled again.
“Lucky me.” Alyssa plucked harder. “Until I make some money, this is what I’ve got.”
“You can borrow some of mine. Or I’ll take you shopping.”
“No,” Alyssa barked. She looked at her mom’s outstretched hand and shook her head at the offered olive branch. “I can’t do this... I don’t know how you manipulated Dad, but I can’t pretend everything’s okay, Mom. I can’t borrow your clothes or take your money. We don’t have that kind of relationship. You ruined it.”
“But we can. If you let us.”
“You think it’s that easy? That all of a sudden anything and everything I do is going to be good enough for you? That what you did—because you’re the one who did it—should be okay and everyone should just forgive, forget, move on, and get with the program, your program, because you say so? Well, we can’t. We are not okay, Mom. I am not okay.”
Chapter 9
Alyssa heard her last sentence. It took on a life of its own and filled the room.I am not okay.
It was so much more than XGC, more than losing everything and landing back in her old clothes in her old room. It was a new reality she hadn’t yet had the courage to face.I am not okay.She repeated the words to herself, unable to deny their truth.
She dashed from the room and down the stairs, through the kitchen, and slammed the back door on her way out. When had she last been okay? It was a question she hadn’t drawn close to asking. Probably because she instinctively knew there was no answer, no incident or point within her life she could fix upon. Besides, what was the point of asking questions that had no answers? But they do, something deep within her whispered. All questions have answers.
Taking out a few flowers while turning around in the driveway, Alyssa sped onto Little Pine Avenue and headed west. She dug through her handbag, popped three Tums into her mouth at the stop sign, and looked down at her clothes with a groan. She was still dressed in 2004.
