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I stay as long as possible in the stall, hoping she’ll leave, but, sure enough, when I emerge, she’s standing by the backlit mirrors, redoing her lipstick.
Hiding my disappointment, I wash my hands and retrieve my powder puff.
“You have anything to tell me, Ava?” She slides the lipstick back into her bag and stares at me.
I keep looking at the mirror, touching up the powder more slowly than necessary. “Um, no, why would I?”
“Am I imagining it or have you been avoiding me?”
“Definitely imagining it.” I plaster a smile on my face.
She frowns.
Mama opens her mouth, then closes it. Ever since I was diagnosed as a teenager, she often has these moments of hesitation where she needs to measure her words before she says them.
“How’s the new medication treating you?”
“New?” I pause. “Oh, you mean compared to what I remember from two years ago? It’s fine. I take one at night.”
“Only one?”
“Isn’t that what the doctor changed it to? Sam told me that’s the new prescription.”
“Right.” Another pause, another rolling of words in her mind. I wish she’d stop treating me like delicate china. This is part of the reason why I couldn’t live with my parents anymore.
I love them, but they’re too careful, too scared about touching me the wrong way or saying something that will trigger me into a fit of psychosis.
That’s partly why I enjoyed Eli’s touch and, begrudgingly, his company. He’s never treated me like I’m weak.
He’s a bastard, yes, but he’s always talked to me as if I were normal, even though he’s fully in the loop about my issues.
“Is it affecting you negatively?” Mama asks. “If we need to have another consultation…”
“I’m fine. I live normally, arrange plants, read books, binge-watch films, and even meet friends—and not at clubs anymore. I play my cello comfortably, without pressure, and I enjoy every second of it. I’ve had no serious side effects and I certainly don’t want another consultation with a therapist that makes me feel like I’m insane. I wish you’d stop suggesting that every time there’s a problem, which there isn’t at the moment.”
“Oh, honey.” Mama pulls me into a hug and I realize my eyes are wet as she pats my back. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I just worry about you.”
“I know.” All too well. More than necessary.This is why, even if I call Eli’s bluff and move out, I won’t go back to her and Papa.
The desperation and hopelessness in their eyes would undo me.
While they’ve never made me feel bad, I can’t help thinking I’m the failure in their lives. If they only had Ari, they wouldn’t be worried all the time like this.
When we pull apart, Mama fixes my hair. “I just want you to go out with me for brunch or coffee sometime. Nothing serious. I only want to catch up with my beautiful daughter.”
“Yeah, sure. I can do that.” I sniff and dab beneath my eyes.
She stands behind me as I fix my makeup again. “Is Eli treating you well?”
I meet her eyes in the mirror as I apply my lipstick. “Not well enough, but he will.”
“That’s my girl. Let me know if you need tips.”
“Why do you have tips?”
“Because I used them on your papa.”
“No way. He treats you like a goddess.”
