Page 25 of The App Trap
“I’m so sorry about him. He’s a bit highly strung.”
I fumbled, trying to put my jacket on, Ben’s apology calming me down a little.
“A bit like I was when I was on that bed back then, eh?” I replied, humour creeping its way back into my psyche.
Ben laughed as I opened the door to leave.
“You gonna be okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll call an Uber outside. I just need to get out of here.”
“Fair enough. I’ll text you.”
And so, I exited the dungeon of doom, one sock worse off. I took my phone out to call an Uber and helplessly watched the 1% battery graphic disappear into a rotating wheel of death.
Chapter
Nine
It was 11:30pm when I arrived back to the ranch, and I was desperate to tuck into a bottle of craft lager to take the edge off the night’s events. Big brother was AWOL and I couldn’t even find out where he was until I charged up my phone. I put my key in the door and hoped that I could sneak past Mum, thus avoiding her until the morning.
I was, of course, out of luck. Mum was lurking in the kitchen, making some kind of camouflage-coloured smoothie. I went to creep by her, to no avail.
“Ooh, there you are. Could you show me something? I’ve got a new phone and I don't know how to look at the messages on it. I saw I had a message from you, but I couldn't get to it for some reason.”
What a stroke of genius luck. I wanted to kiss whoever had sold her that phone.
“Give it here, I’ll have a look.”
Mum burst out laughing. “Only joking! What on earth have you been up to? You look like something out of a Channel 5 documentary.”
She managed to keep talking through her laughter.
“Look. I’ve seen it. It's our little secret. Let's move on. Whatever you get up to is your business.”
“But I… seriously, I don't do that sort of shit. Usually. The guy that sent the photo was annoyed with me because I tried to arrange… actually, it doesn't matter. I’m gonna quit while I’m ahead. Behind. Whatever.”
“Is this something to do with all this online dating you’re doing?” asked Mum.
“Yeah. Kind of. What’s that?” I said, moving the subject over to the camouflage-coloured smoothie she was concocting.
“Kale, quinoa, sprouts, turmeric and beetroot. Want some? It’s supposed to kick cancer in the balls.”
“Nah, it looks rank. I think I’d sooner take my chances if I’m honest. It actually smells like wet dogs.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got to do everything I can. This bloody tumour doesn't seem to be shrinking much, but this stuff is better than all that chemo crap.”
“Mum, you’ll beat this. It’s actually insane how tough you are. You’re still doing the chemo, though, right?”
“Yeah. They keep giving me these cold caps to wear. They’re supposed to slow down the hair loss, but they don’t bloody work. Here, I’ve started making these headscarf things. You should see the state of some of the wigs they’re trying to flog at the hospital. It's a bloody travesty. I might try and sell a few of these.”
She laughed, passing me her meticulously folded headscarf that somehow looked like something out of a Gucci catalogue.
My mother always had an incredible sense of style. Even bringing us up single-handedly with no money, she’d find ways to look stylish with whatever money shehad left over from feeding and clothing us. She always turned heads and never had any problems getting a fella’s attention.
I grabbed her hand and she squeezed mine, which forced out a tear. She didn’t like showing any weakness to us, more for our protection as she knew seeing her in pieces would upset us. We always came first with her and always would. It’s the selfless way of the parent––a part of life I knew nothing about.
We shared a moment of silence before I jumped up to get a bottle of hipster juice from the fridge.
