Page 14 of Shy Girl
“Of course, inhaling marijuana is far more unpleasant. Mushrooms, on the other hand . . .”
My mouth opened again, but I closed it again. Why fight it? I let her words run through the background of my mind and kept a very loose track on whatever tangent she’d launched herself into now. Why waste the precious words? Mom didn’t actually need or want me to respond. She just wanted to talk. Like a child who self soothed through chattering to herself. Less than a minute later, she’d worn the subject out.
“Anyway.” Mom popped a hand on her hip and lifted her eyebrows. “Any news from you?”
“Ah . . . n-not really. I may have found a place in J-jackson C-c-city that will take my pallet furniture, but I haven’t c-confirmed with them.”
She frowned. “Why not?”
“I’m b-b-busy.”
Frightened,I thought. Mom would pounce on that in a second if I admitted it, however.
“Better get on it,” Mom muttered, but turned to pull something off a cupboard above her when the grinder made a screeching sound. “The universe doesn’t just give those opportunities away, you know. Gotta take them when they come.”
So many replies surfaced to the tip of my tongue, but I stuffed them back down. The universe and I, as Mom saw it, had things to talk about.
“What are you scared of, anyway?” she asked as she riffled through a cardboard box. “Can’t be that scary, talking to some local businesses to sell your furniture. We like to support each other, you know. We’re in this together.”
She saidweas if she were a vetted business. As if she’d ever worked cooperatively with anyone in her life. Some of her friends bought food or earth-based goods out of her house when she offered a discount, but Mom had never operated above board. Who was she friends with that ran a company?
“I-it’s not,” I said in an attempt to sound confident. “I-I-I just th-think—”
“I know.” She waved an impatient hand. “I know. You don’t want them to reject you or judge you based on your stutter, but you need to get over it already.”
My nostrils flared as I sucked in a sharp breath. That wasn’t what I was going to say, but Mom was forever speaking ahead of me. It’s how it had always been and the reason my stutter was so much worse at her house. Her quickget over itsent a frisson of frustration through me.
A familiar tension crept up my body, like a fist holding onto my vocal cords. I could feel it tightening, tightening, tightening. Even the muscles in my face and jaw felt the grip. Once this happened, I rarely got my words back, no matter how desperately I tried.
“What can you t-t-tell me about my b-b-biological f-father?”
My firm tone gave me a surge of pride despite the words falling over themselves. By now, I’d normally retreated to uncertain grunts and one-word answers. Several words in a row and a sentence started without a stutter in front of Mom was almost a new record.
Mom paled. The linen bag she’d been preparing to shovel ground groats into fell onto the counter.
“What?” she breathed.
“M-m-my b-biological f-father. What h-h-happened to him? W-where is he? When d-d-did you last talk to h-him?
Although I already knew the answer to most of these questions, I still felt compelled to ask. Her pasty expression didn’t improve. She reached back with one hand and propped it on the counter.
“Why are you asking about him?”
A thousand reasons,I thought.I’ve always asked them, but never out loud.
“D-don’t know,” I whispered.
Which was, in fact, a lie.
I knew exactly why I was asking, but the truth wouldn’t cross my lips that way. For most of my life, the questions about my biological father had surfaced and prevaricated around the edges of my mind like a ghost. Regret that I’d asked followed when I saw the firming up of her expression. She wouldn’t reveal anything. Short of being drunk, I’d never get this information out of her.
Why did I ask? Did I want to set her on edge? Punish her? I couldn’t tell. I just knew the words came out because they’d been sitting there so long.
The last person I’d tell my grand plan to was Mom. The last person that would ever know my plan was Mom. Eventually, I’d never have to ask her anything about him again. I’d know it myself.
She let out a long breath. “I don’t know,” she said, and pressed her colorless lips together. They’d hardened, impossibly straight, and without an inch of give. I dropped my gaze, cowed by the fury hiding behind her surprise. Likely, the only reason I wasn’t getting an earful of words was because of shock.
Which meant it was time to make a gracious escape.
