Letters to Lestat

It's Your Fault!

I'd gotten home from school today to find mom sitting on the sofa in the living room, a picture of dad in her lap. She'd been crying.

"I just miss him so much, honey."

I stood at the entrance of the room. "How do you think I feel?"

"Chloe, please, let's not do this today."

"Do what?"

"This. Argue. This is hard for me, too."

"You just don't get it, mom. At least you got a chance to prepare. What about me?"

"Honey, please."

"I don't know why I even bother. I'll be up in my room."

"Honey, wait."

"What is it?"

"How about we get away from the house tonight? Go somewhere for dinner, anywhere you want?"

"I've got plans already. I'm going over to Margo's. May I be excused now?"

"Sure, honey."

There had been sadness in her eyes, even in her tone, but none of that moved me. Truth is, my relationship with my mom had been strained long before my dad's death. We clashed about any and everything. She was always on me about school. If not school, then my future. If not that, then my quirkiness. It felt like I could never just be me. The more she pushed me to do better or be better, the more I rebelled. This tension, constant tug o' war seemed to have defined our relationship. So, the sooner I could get up to my room, the better for the both of us.

I made it over to Margo's around six and stretched across her bed and buried my head in her pillows.

"Chloe, what's wrong?"

"Guess."

"What did she say to you this time?"

I rolled over to face her. "I don't know. She just infuriates me—she pretend like she cares."

"She's your mom. Of course, she cares."

"You know what I mean. She and dad kept his sickness from me. What kind of parents do that?"

"Well, just do what I do," said Margo.

"What's that?"

"Pretend you were adopted and your real family is a caravan of gypsies."

"Margo, that's so not funny."

"Sorry, I was just trying to make you laugh. You're in a funk, and we've gotta do something about that. Hold on."

"Wait, what are you about to do?"

"You'll see." Margo started fidgeting with her laptop at her desk then brought it over to the bed. "Someone wants to say hi to you." It was Bryan on video Skype.

"What's this?" he said. "A party without me?" I couldn't help myself. Bryan always had a way of making me smile. "Oh my god, is that? Can't be. Not a smile."

"Shut up," I said. "Yes, you dweeb, you got a smile out of me."

"Who's the man? Say it. Who's the man?"

"Screw that. Who's the woman? I'm the brains behind this here outfit," Margo teased.

"The brains?" I said.

"It worked, didn't it?" she said. Sometimes I really hated Margo...for being so smart and so right...for being such a great friend, especially when I want to wallow in my misery and feel sorry for myself.

"Yeah, it worked," I said. "I do feel a little better. Thanks, guys."

"Sure," said Bryan. "Now, do you think that one of you could teleport me a slice of pizza? It's meatloaf night at my house." We all burst into laughter.