Cheshire Girl

Ch. 31

I moved around the house for about an hour.  I cleaned everything, erasing all traces of a guest in our house that Saturday.  I rearranged my room, and then put it back the way it was fifteen minutes later.  I unplugged the house phone.  I put oil on all the door hinges, so no more squeaking.  There was nothing I could do for the floorboards; the creaking parts were under the carpet.

                I just didn't want to sit still long enough for Beatrice to come out again… nor did I want to sit still long enough to start thinking things….

                If I didn't like Ethan before, I did now.  Honestly, I couldn't have been more honest about anything to anyone than whenever I talked to him.  What was it about him that I could say such things so easily?  And why did it have to be him, who—according to Beatrice—could never be mine?  After all this is over, I don't get the guy in the end?

                What a bunch of balls.

*

By the time Mom came home, the lasagna was ready to eat (no, I can't cook; it was one of those already-made ones you just stick in the oven (I am not Bella Swan!)).  She seemed really pleased.

                "While a movie-deal isn't on the table," she said during dinner, "the book is already going forward for publishing.  It'll be out this summer, so we can both go on tour.  Won't that be fun?"

                "That'll be great."  We didn't go on tour last year… for obvious reasons.  It would actually be fun, though, because Mom always played her own assistant.  She always wanted to write books, but she never wanted to be famous.

                "So," she said, "how was your day?"

                I shrugged.  "It was alright.  Ethan and I already finished our project."

                She nodded.  "And how was Pamela?"

                "She was really nice."

                "I called earlier this afternoon.  No one answered."

                "Oh.  When I got home, I unplugged the phone and took a nap for a little bit.  I guess I forgot to plug it back in."

                Mom frowned.  "And your cell phone?"

                I blinked.  "It's in my backpack."  I got up and went to the living room.  I'd dumped it on the couch.  I rooted through it and found my phone, three missed calls on it; two of them were Charlie's number. 

                I also found the cookies and gave them to Mom.

                "Ooh, these are good," she said, eating one.  "Last question:  why's the painting in the living room down?"

                At least I could be honest about this one.  "The string broke and it fell."

                Mom nodded, frowning in its direction.  "I really like that one," she sighed.  "So, no class on Monday… any plans?"

                "Sleep."

*

Despite the plan, I knew I wasn't sleeping that night.

                I'd thought Beatrice was going to pound it into my head that my chances with Ethan were pretty slim to nonexistent.  While it sucked, I knew I could come to terms with it.  Besides, I sort of understood that me being with Ethan was the last thing Beatrice would want.  She needed my attention.