Dear Estella,

20. i'm a truther

I make my way down the stairs, dressed and ready for school. As I near the kitchen, I hear the rustling of papers coming from my mom's home office.

She's back.

I pad over to the small room, finding my mom searching through a stack of papers stuffed inside of a manila folder. She's dressed in casual clothing, well— as casual as it ever gets for her: a plain black button down shirt tucked into a pair of burgundy dress pants, clad in black heeled booties.

"Hi, Mom," I say, remaining in my position on the other side of the threshold of the door. It's one of the many rules she enforces on me.

"Estella, you are not to step foot in my office," she had told me once at the age of thirteen, when my pesky curiosity got the best of me. I didn't actually snoop through any of the files, just looked around a bit. I wasn't surprised to find out her office is just as impersonal and bland as her.

Right. Like you can talk.

"Good morning," she says flatly, her focus still on finding whatever she needs from the papers she's flipping through.

"When'd you get back?" I ask, attempting to make conversation with her as best as I can.

"This morning," she replies, finally sparing me a glance. "Your shoes were on the ground right by the door. Thought I taught you better than that."

She's never taught you anything.

"Sorry," I mumble. "I forgot to pick them up when I got home yesterday."

She halts her movements, looking up at me with coldness in her hazel eyes. "I guess I should know by now that I shouldn't expect any more of you."

I frown, unprepared to take her jabs at my self-esteem this early in the morning. Then again, I think I should know by now that I shouldn't expect any less of her.

"It was— I just forgot."

They're just shoes.

"I know." She nods. "Heard you the first time."

My phone vibrates inside of the back pocket of my dark wash jeans. I slowly pull it out, seeing a text message from Asher light up my screen.

"Well, I'll see you after school." I walk away from her office speedily, wanting nothing more than to leave the house without another word spoken between us.

You should know better by now, Estella.

I hear her footsteps following after me, the loud thump of her heels hitting the ground is a sound I've grown to despise over the years. If I could throw away every pair of heels my mother owns, I would.

"How are you getting to school?" She asks. "I can take you, Estella."

"I'm walking." I turn around to face her, only hoping she doesn't notice the black car with the boy waiting for me inside.

"I'll take you."

"It's fine." I shake my head, trying to remain as calm as possible to prevent any raising suspicions. I crack my middle finger with my thumb. "I... I just wanna walk."

She narrows her eyes at me, her arms still crossed defensively. "Fine."

I nod, slowly backing away from her and making my way to the door. "Bye, Mom."