Page 47 of Indigo

Maybe it really is time to let him go, and focus on me, on her, on us.

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INDIGO

“SHIT, SHIT, SHIT,”I hear Mum mumble from the kitchen as I place yet another piece of chocolate in my mouth and press play on our sixth episode of Gilmore Girls for the night.

“What’s wrong?” I call out.

After receiving no reply, only more muffled curses, I drag my ass off the couch and head for the other room, only to find her slipping on a pair of bright pink sandals.

“And where are you going, young lady?” I ask, taking in her appearance and placing my hands on my hips. “Mum, you can’t go out like that.”

She looks down at her oversized black and white tie-dyed t-shirt, her blue drop crotch pants, and the pink slides, and then back up at me, confusion written all over her face. “And why not?”

“Mum, you look crazy.” My statement is only proven further when she reaches for her lime green purse and slings it over her shoulder.

“Ah, but I am crazy,” she replies, grinning from ear to ear.

“If that ain’t the truth,” I say, resting my hip against the kitchen counter and crossing my arms.

She chuckles and leans in to kiss my cheek as she passes by. “Just popping to the convenience store, I’ll be back in a jiff. Can’t have coffee without cake.”

“Mum, we don’t need cake. We’re switching to margaritas once Paisley gets here, which will be any second, by the way. Plus, we’ve already had popcorn, chocolate and cookies for bloody dinner. We’re going to get fat!”

I hear the front door open, and then she calls back, “Ah, wouldn’t that be wonderful? The lucky men of Scarlett Bay would have so much more of us to love.”

I can’t help but smile at her response, and as I hear her greet Paisley, I reach for a fresh mug.

“Hey girl,” Paisley calls, closing the door behind her and walking into the kitchen to join me wearing her pink Peter Alexander Pyjamas.

“Hey you. How’s your day been?” I ask, as if we haven’t been messaging on and off all day.

I pour two cups of coffee, hand her one, and after filling each other in, we decide to take our drinks to the couch while we wait for Mum to return.

After about half an hour, she finally makes her appearance with three different kinds of cake in hand, and disappears into the kitchen immediately.

“Alright girls, enough coffee, it’s Monday, you know what that means,” she grins at us only a few moments later from the doorway, blender in hand.

“Margarita Monday!” We both cheer from the couch, abandoning our empty mugs on the coffee table in front of us, and rushing to the kitchen to join her.

“What was that movie the two of you used to watch all the damn time? You know the one. The one with the song,” Mum slurs after one too many drinks, tapping her bottom lip with her finger as if deep in thought.

“Oh my god,” Paisley squeals, placing her drink down and racing out of the kitchen into the living room. Mum and I both watch the doorway, waiting for her to come back and fill us in, but instead she chants, “Mulan, Mulan, Mulan.”

Excitement courses through me when my brain decides to participate and puts two and two together. How the hell did I forget about that movie? Paisley and I watched it at least once a week religiously. I’m sure the lyrics to all the songs are still ingrained in my memory somewhere.

Mum and I join Paisley as she sets the movie up, and then we all sit on the couch, continue drinking, and watch along tamely, singing when we remember the songs and laughing in between parts that we don’t deem important to the experience. However, after one too many drinks and a few pieces of cake, I find myself standing on the coffee table with Paisley, using wooden spoons as microphones, belting out the chorus of “I’ll Make a Man Out of You” by Donny Osmond, all while Mum records us on her phone.

Not bothering to stop signing when the front door opens, we simply turn our bodies to the left to see who it is, and are greeted by a very amused looking Pax. Jagger and Matt step forward a second later, revealing themselves at his side, and the three of them burst into a fit of laughter, clearly amused by our performance.

I am nothing if not entertaining when drunk.

I point at Pax with my index finger and wiggle it, gesturing for him to come to me while I continue to sing completely off key, not missing a beat. As he reaches me, his hands hover in front of him as if he’s scared I’m going to fall, and he’ll have to catch me.

It’s not,nota possibility, but even if I did, it’s not that far to the ground from here, so I’m not worried. Tequila helps with that, too.

I leap into his arms the second the song finishes, taking him by surprise, but he still manages to catch me with only a slight stumble.

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