The Bucketlist

61 | BACK IN THE CITY

"You're kidding me, right?" I said, throwing up in the bathroom. As if I am going to believe that I passed out on the street and a complete stranger brought me home? Nah, she has got to be kidding me!

"No, I am not. You drag yourself from Fordshire to Seattle to bring us shame, Eva!" My mom yelled at me.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, totally clueless.

My head hurt and I tried recollecting whether I fell off a cliff the night before. Hands, okay. Legs, okay. Ass, okay. Except for my head, everything else was okay. So, nope not a cliff. Then what else. I remember walking on the curb,hitting the bar and asking for a- whiskey? Fuck.

The memory came rushing in my head. I got a pocketful of sunshine. Shit. My head spinned a little and I barfed again, mom's eyes filled with disgust as she turned away from the door.

"Meet me in the living room when you are done throwing up." she said, slamming the door.

As if I had control over how long I want to throw up! Blergh! Just how many glasses have I had? Did I break someone's car? Got into a fight? I checked the bathroom mirror for a blue eye. Luckily there wasn't one.

When I didn't feel like vomiting, I stripped naked, hopped in the shower and let the warm water ignite my senses. My head hurt less, and I wished I didn't create much of a jeopardy.

Pulling a crop-top over head, I slipped into a pair of sweats and my favorite smurfs jumper. Time to go, blue!

"Eva, I can't hear you barf! Get your ass down here!" Mom screamed from downstairs.

~

"Do you remember anything from last night?" My mom asked as Martha sat in her swivel chair, painting. Doesn't she ever get tired of creating all this art? Even an artist has its limit. Or maybe, Martha is a pusher.

"Evangeline, are you even listening?" She asked and I cringe at the full name mention. Mothers get to have a say in how they call their kids, eh? I couldn't blame her.

"Yes, mom. I am." I said, playing with the corner of my jumper.

"Do you remember anything from last night?" She repeated herself, emphasizing a little more on last night.

"No, I don't." I told her, and she looked at me as if I had told her I was pregnant with two kids. I wasn't. But I had no idea what I did to give her that impression. What the hell happened last night?

"You broke glasses at Paul's bar, danced on the counter and kicked a school kid in his fucking cojones!" Mom yelled at me and I stared at her as if she just told me I had won a Nobel. Wow. Cool. I did that. Okay, but how?

"You're kidding me. Do I look like Hardin Scott? What was a school kid doing at a bar in the first place?" I asked and she shot me a glare. Before you talk with your mother, learn the code word. Glare means time to shut up, pressed lips meant disappointment, smile is straightforward sarcasm, and if she is using her hands, you have done something terrible.

"Eva, you are twenty five for God's sake!" My mom ruffled her hair. That's where I got my brown hair from. But now they were navy blue, one could hardly tell. She had big, doe eyes. I had the opposite. I get it from my dad's side. Almond shaped, brown, average.

"I am sorry, mom!" I said, my eyes shunned down. Even if you aren't ashamed, learn to act. You can't let your mother think she was talking to the walls after carrying you for nine damn months within her.

"Why did you leave the house when you were grounded?" She asked, narrowing her gaze as Martha whistled in her jumpsuit. Tacky bitch.

"I am twenty five! I am not supposed to be grounded." I complained, boring a hole in the ground with my toe as it crushed the crack on the tile further.