"You're kidding me, right?" I said, throwing up in the bathroom. As if I am going to believe that I passed out on the street and a complete stranger brought me home? Nah, she has got to be kidding me!
"No, I am not. You drag yourself from Fordshire to Seattle to bring us shame, Eva!" My mom yelled at me.
"What are you talking about?" I asked, totally clueless.
My head hurt and I tried recollecting whether I fell off a cliff the night before. Hands, okay. Legs, okay. Ass, okay. Except for my head, everything else was okay. So, nope not a cliff. Then what else. I remember walking on the curb,hitting the bar and asking for a- whiskey? Fuck.
The memory came rushing in my head. I got a pocketful of sunshine. Shit. My head spinned a little and I barfed again, mom's eyes filled with disgust as she turned away from the door.
"Meet me in the living room when you are done throwing up." she said, slamming the door.
As if I had control over how long I want to throw up! Blergh! Just how many glasses have I had? Did I break someone's car? Got into a fight? I checked the bathroom mirror for a blue eye. Luckily there wasn't one.
When I didn't feel like vomiting, I stripped naked, hopped in the shower and let the warm water ignite my senses. My head hurt less, and I wished I didn't create much of a jeopardy.
Pulling a crop-top over head, I slipped into a pair of sweats and my favorite smurfs jumper. Time to go, blue!
"Eva, I can't hear you barf! Get your ass down here!" Mom screamed from downstairs.
~
"Do you remember anything from last night?" My mom asked as Martha sat in her swivel chair, painting. Doesn't she ever get tired of creating all this art? Even an artist has its limit. Or maybe, Martha is a pusher.
"Evangeline, are you even listening?" She asked and I cringe at the full name mention. Mothers get to have a say in how they call their kids, eh? I couldn't blame her.
"Yes, mom. I am." I said, playing with the corner of my jumper.
"Do you remember anything from last night?" She repeated herself, emphasizing a little more on last night.
"No, I don't." I told her, and she looked at me as if I had told her I was pregnant with two kids. I wasn't. But I had no idea what I did to give her that impression. What the hell happened last night?
"You broke glasses at Paul's bar, danced on the counter and kicked a school kid in his fucking cojones!" Mom yelled at me and I stared at her as if she just told me I had won a Nobel. Wow. Cool. I did that. Okay, but how?
"You're kidding me. Do I look like Hardin Scott? What was a school kid doing at a bar in the first place?" I asked and she shot me a glare. Before you talk with your mother, learn the code word. Glare means time to shut up, pressed lips meant disappointment, smile is straightforward sarcasm, and if she is using her hands, you have done something terrible.
"Eva, you are twenty five for God's sake!" My mom ruffled her hair. That's where I got my brown hair from. But now they were navy blue, one could hardly tell. She had big, doe eyes. I had the opposite. I get it from my dad's side. Almond shaped, brown, average.
"I am sorry, mom!" I said, my eyes shunned down. Even if you aren't ashamed, learn to act. You can't let your mother think she was talking to the walls after carrying you for nine damn months within her.
"Why did you leave the house when you were grounded?" She asked, narrowing her gaze as Martha whistled in her jumpsuit. Tacky bitch.
"I am twenty five! I am not supposed to be grounded." I complained, boring a hole in the ground with my toe as it crushed the crack on the tile further.
"But you were! It means you have to act like a twenty five!" She screamed. Okay, it was getting scary. I had lost practice of how we were to go with this. What happened next? Will she cut off my phone? Feed me home food? Or maybe, lock me up in my bedroom? All of that would be awesome.
"What do twenty five-year-olds act like?" I asked her, and she let out a sigh. Oh boy, I was walking on eggshells.
"Twenty five year olds know their limit before they drink!" She scoffed at me and I raised an eyebrow.
"How am I supposed to know my limit when I haven't been drunk before?" I said, and she looked at me quizzically.
"You're kidding me right?" She asked. Look how the cards have turned.
"I am not." I said, shrugging my shoulders.
"Oh dear, just what kind of adult life have we given you!" She said dramatically and fake wiped her imaginary tears.
"I am not buying that bullshit!" She said, looking sternly at me.
"Don't fool around the city. I have a reputation here!" She said, stood up and walked away. Probably heading towards one of the vineyards.
"You're lucky she's got you off the hook so easily!" Martha chuckled.
"That's probably because she hates to admit she doesn't have enough time for me!" I said, and Martha looked at me sympathetically.
"Don't look at me like that." I said, and she raised an eyebrow.
"I don't need your pity. I am not the same old twelve year girl. I am a grown up!" I sighed and she shifted her brushes to the side of her palette tray.
"Ever since Bucky left it has been hard for everyone. We are family, we have to stick together. Pity or not." She said, shooting me an affirming smile.
I smiled at her sadly. The day dad left, everything came crashing down. We nearly lost the house till Martha helped us with the debts and now, the three of us are together, happy, thriving without any man. If mom can do it, so can I. I don't need a man to make me happy.
"Umm, Martha. Do you have any idea who brought me home yesterday?" I asked, a little curious.
"Why, it was Ron, of-course!" She added, stroking on the canvas.
"Am I mistaken or was he the same, high school punk Ron?" I asked, fearing that what I was thinking wasn't true.
"Yeah, that beach-boy blonde. He brought you home!" She said, focusing on her artwork and I asked her no more questions.
So, the guy who had the balls to say I had asymmetrical boobs in my sophomore year had the balls to show up his face to me again? I have got to get some things sorted.
~
"Tell mom, I am going to run some personal errands!" I said, walking into the patio. I adjusted the jacket and shifted a little in my sneakers.
"Whoa! What personal errands?" Martha asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Umm, personal errands?" I said and she rubbed the bridge of her nose.
"Okay. Get back before it's dark or you will be personally grounded, again." She said, winking at me.
"Martha, do you know where Ron lives?" I asked, crooning from the corner of the backyard before I entered the garage. Maybe, she can't even hear me from here.
"Do you have Ron's address?" I asked, flashing a smile as I stood near Martha's canvas.
"Yup. But I am not sharing that with you. I remember you have bad blood with that guy." Martha said, not looking at me as she kept moving her brush against the canvas. Her forehead wrinkled with the effort of thinking about what she was going to do.
"I just wanted to thank him. It's no biggie. I am twenty five!" I said, and she snorted a laugh.
"You're saying that a lot! I will send you the address but try not to shave his head off like you did last time. Okay, wild child?" She said and I gulped, and nodded.