A Graveyard of Stars

Chapter Sixteen

Accept me for what I am - completely unacceptable.

-Morrissey, in a letter to Robert Mackie, circa 1980.

-

I'm awoken by the bitter aroma of freshly made coffee.

Looking around at the beige walls, pearly white carpet and silk sheets, I know I'm in my Mom's room. Walking myself in here in the middle of the night like a little girl afraid of a loud thunderstorm feels like a dream to me now.

I kick the blankets off my body and exit the room immediately when I recall the rest of the night's events. I hear my Mom humming in the kitchen as I shut the bedroom door behind me. The sharp aroma of unsweetened coffee invades my senses. I cringe. Starting for the stairs, I wonder if I should call Will to apologize. I've decided that I'm definitely not going to pretend last night never happened because-

Wait. My Mom....humming?

I walk away from the stairs and venture toward the kitchen tentatively. Maybe she never could go back to sleep last night like I thought. So, she got up at the crack of dawn and has been drinking coffee ever since, causing some kind of high.

What time is it anyway?

When I reach the kitchen, Mom is fully dressed and about to sit at the table with a cup of coffee. She looks up at me. "Good morning."

She reaches across the table to grab her Jodi Picoult book. "Morning..." I reply.

I glance at the clock on the stove. It's ten-twenty-five. Without another word to my strangely relaxed Mother, I run up the stairs.

I take a shower in my bathroom. The warm water and soaps glide down my body. While showers don't fix everything, I will admit that there is something immensely comforting and encouraging about them. Washing your whole body is like a mini fresh start.

Once I'm done, I grab a clean pair of dark jeans. Since I haven't had a moment to retrieve my dirty clothes from...my floor I have to go searching for a clean t-shirt. I fish through my dresser to find a white tank top before throwing on a blue Bexley High zip-up hoodie.

As I scrub my teeth with my toothbrush, I try shooting a text to Will.

No response.

As I run a brush through my soaked hair, I try calling him.

No answer.

I flip my hair over to towel dry it as I wait for my phone to vibrate.

It doesn't.

Maybe his phone is dead. That could easily be the reason. Then there's the more crappy but likely reason lingering at the end of every thought I have, that maybe he's seen every message and every phone call but chooses to ignore them.

I grab my phone and head toward the door. I pause though, and walk to my desk instead. In a drawer is an already maladroitly opened envelop. The papers are still inside. I slap it on my palm a couple times, thinking, before folding it and shoving it into my pocket.

I leave the room.

My Mom's not humming anymore but she's still sitting at the kitchen table with her book and coffee. Her eyes skim the printed words on the page. I smile to myself. For the first time in a long time, she looks peaceful, comfortable. It's a warming sight. I hope it sticks.

I step into the kitchen. "I'm going out," I say, almost cringing at the familiar look in her eyes when she lifts her head. "To the grocery store," I add quickly.