Mickey Who?

†3† What Now?

Chapter Three: What Now?

Song for this chapter: “Stay With Me” by Sam Smith

          Somehow, I was able to withhold the whole “Mickey” ordeal from Heather. Although, I guess it wasn’t too hard to do since the entire way home, she blabbed animatedly about that car wash guy she flirted with. Apparently his name was Ashton or something. And she really, really found him…attractive to say the least.

          Sometimes…having a very talkative best friend was a plus. And that was definitely a “plus” moment. 

          Once I dropped Heather off, I thought about Mickey more, eventually depressing myself. “I should have told Heather about this…” But the very clear warning the previous Mickey’s warning echoed loudly in my head. And I knew that if I told Heather, she’d prod over and over again until I showed her what Mickey was all about. 

     To put it simply…I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. 

          As I closed my front door behind me, the sweet aroma of my favorite dish wafted to my nostrils. Meat loaf. Honestly, I didn’t like meat loaf—in fact, most of the time; I couldn’t stand it—but when my mom made her signature meat loaf, there was nothing in the world that could keep me from it.

          It was still pretty early, around fivish, according to the last time I glanced at the time, but it was pretty usual for the two of us to have dinner around this time because Mom usually worked the night shift. She was a nurse, and for as long as I could remember, she always loved doing her job.

          I lazily plopped my keys on the wooden key rack next to the door, and dropped my backpack under it, not bothering to lug it to my room. 

          “Ana?” A familiar, gentle voice reverberated through the pale walls of the small, yet comfortable house. “Is that you?”

           “Yep, Mom,” I called back, kicking off my converses.

           “Would you mind coming here for a moment? I need your help.” 

          “Sure.” I padded into the kitchen and noticed my mom standing in front of the sink. As I drew closer I examined her features. In many ways, people said we looked very much alike. We shared the same dark, wavy hair, except hers was cropped to just a little higher than her shoulders, while mine stopped a little lower than my mid-back. We also both had the same pale complexion, face shape, and slim body structure. “Whatcha’ need?” 

          She turned around and smiled warmly. “Can you set up the table, hun?”

          She was kind and loving—just like a mother should always be. Since I was an only child and she was a single mother, we found it pretty easy to bond well. Although it was sometimes lonely because my father left us when I was just a baby, we could always find comfort with each other. I didn’t have much of an attachment with my dad, mainly because I didn’t really know him, aside from the few stories Mom shared about him. So I guess you couldn’t miss what you never really had.

          There’s only one real thing that my father and I really shared, and it that was our soft brown eyes. My mom’s were a very contrasting light shade of blue.

          “I sure can,” I replied, as I made my way over to the utensil drawer. I pulled out two forks and a couple of knifes before turning towards the dining room.

          “So how was school?” She queried, while her back was still facing me. 

          “It was alright.”