Page 44 of More Than Chemical
“A bit what?” I asked as innocently as I could. Mom was always dressed in designer clothes with elegant accessories. She was posh—slutty was far beneath her.
“Revealing.”
I looked down and saw the freckle that normally no one could see.Maybe.
“Adriana, I can see the top of your bra.”
She was right, of course.
Just then, the hostess came back with a pot of tea and two cups.
“Is it caffeinated?” It was after four o’clock in the afternoon, and that meant no caffeine for me.
“It’s green, so there’s a little.”
My mom raised an eyebrow at me. “You’re not still having trouble sleeping, are you?”
I was happy for a diversion from my scantily clothed boobs. But this new topic might be just as uncomfortable. When I’d left for school last fall, I’d told her I was fine. I hadn’t wanted her to worry. Even though Dad had caused some anxiety-induced insomnia, I’d wanted her to think I’d risen up and overcome it.
“No, I’m good.” Another lie. Might as well. I was getting so good at it.
She lifted the pot and held on to the lid. “Do you want some?”
“No, thanks.” I put a hand over the cup in front of me.
She poured her own and then folded her hands on the table. “Is your second semester going as well as the first?”
“It’s going great,” I said, and forced a smile. She also didn’t need to know how poorly I’d done in my classes. She was used to me being a straight-A student—Cs and a D were not something I wanted to talk about, let alone admit to, even to myself.
The void in my stomach was not just because I was hungry.
“So, Mom, have you seen the news articles about the condos being built downtown and how empty nesters and retirees are gobbling them up?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. I don’t pay much attention to things like that.”
“I’ve gathered some info.” I unzipped my backpack, pulled out the brochures, and laid them on the table. “I think you should look into some of these. They’re totally your style.”
She stared down at the smiling faces and bright photos on the flyers. “Your dad would never want to move.”
“I don’t think he’ll have much choice in the matter.”
The waiter approached, and Mom rattled off to him the sushi rolls and nigiri we always ordered without even looking at the menu.
She looked back at me. “I’m confused. What are you talking about?”
“Dad has been charged with five felonies that he’ll be going on trial for in two weeks. The maximum sentence for each count is ten years. If he’s convicted and a judge decides to make those sentences consecutive, that’s fifty years.”
Mom gave me that deer-in-headlights look.
I reached over the pamphlets and squeezed her hand. “Mom, he might have to move to prison, without you. I just want to show you that you have options.”
She pulled her hand back. “Well, if you were still talking with your dad, you’d know that his lawyer has some solid defenses that show he’s not a criminal and won’t be going to jail.”
Ugh.
“In fact,” she said, “I think you should work things out with him before the trial begins.”
“No.” My tone was sharp. Sharper than I’d intended. “Don’t you remember high school graduation?” My heart drummed in my chest. Perspiration formed along the underside of my bra. It was difficult for me to breathe. “When I walked across the stage to receive my diploma and I was heckled?”
