Page 9 of Searching for Beautiful
For some reason, I don’t want to share my thoughts or memories of her with them right now. I don’t want anyone else to talk about her.
That’s a lie. I want Dad to talk about her.
“Brynn? Did you hear me?” I snap out of it and look at Diana.
She frowns and grabs my hand. “You didn’t even hear any of that, did you?” She doesn’t give me time to answer before she continues. “I know you’re sad and we get that, but we can’t help if you don’t talk to us. Talk to someone. Your mom would want that. ”
It’s those words that shove me over the edge. I can’t believe they would tell me what my mom wants. That they think they can say to talk it out and I just can. She didn’t have to find her mom dead.
Clay mixes with water down the drain as I wash my hands. I’m still frowning, still annoyed at Mom, but my eyes keep flashing to the vase I just made and I can’t stop thinking… She would love it. I love it, but I know she would even more. Mom’s always been into thinner, longer designs and that’s exactly how this one came out.
As frustrated as I am at her, excitement still skitters through me when I think of how she’ll react when she sees it. Mom loves it when I create things. It feels good to make her proud that she picked me.
But she also had an attitude with me today for no reason. She’s been on my back all day. Serves her right if I don’
t show it to her right now.
Deciding against telling her, I turn off the faucet in my pottery room and head for the door.
I count the steps from my room to the back door. Fifteen. Shaking my head, I giggle when I think of how crazy it is to count my movements as though that will make it take longer to get inside. I’ve already been out here longer than I need to be, so I finally just push the door open.
See her legs on the floor as I push it farther and farther.
My heart starts to jackhammer. What is she doing on the floor? What is she doing on the floor?
Her waist.
“Mom!” The door hits the counter as I shove it open.
“Mom!” My legs collapse from under me and I hit the floor.
She’s not moving. Not talking. I’m afraid to see if she’s breathing.
No, no, no. “Mom? Please! Please, wake up. ” The words break apart as I speak them. My tears fall on her as I pull her head to my lap. Holding her, I struggle to get my cell out of my pocket. My fingers shake as I dial 911, my free hand running through her hair like she does with me.
The woman who answers hardly gets out any words before I yell, “Help. Please. Help me!”
“Brynn?” Diana snaps me out of the memory. One look at her tells me she’s frustrated. “We’re going to go. Think about what I said, okay?” She stands and then so does Ellie.
“Do you want us to pick you up tomorrow?” Ellie asks.
“No,” I manage to say, tracing the headboard again. “I’ll meet you there. ”
“What time?” Diana asks.
“Umm…seven?” I feel like I’m on autopilot, saying what I’m supposed to and not feeling any of it.
“Okay, we’ll see you then. ”
“Love ya,” they both say.
“Love you, too…”
I can’t make myself go to the party. I can’t make myself answer the phone. And when I go back to school, it’s a struggle just to hang out with my friends.
The worst part is I know they’re right. Mom wouldn’t want this for me, even if I did sit in my pottery room being angry at her while she was dying.
I wish I could be as good as she was.
