I waver for a minute, wondering if I should just give in and tell her what she wants to hear. Since it seems like she just wants to hear something, anything at all. I even open my mouth, the words forming somewhere in my throat, but when I try to actually speak, it’s just…like my vocal chords are paralyzed or something. Nothing comes out.
“What I don’t understand is why you would go to that party in the first place,” she says. She sighs again and walks over to the dryer. “And then I think about everything else you must’ve been doing behind our backs. I’m smarter than you give me credit for, Chelsea. I knew things…happened, things I figured I was better off not knowing about. Like the drinking. The boys. But I thought we raised you better than that.”
I want to tell her that it isn’t like that. So I drink, sometimes, but it’s not like— It’s just a social thing. A fun thing. I’m not like her cousin who got so drunk at Thanksgiving he passed out in the driveway. And as for the boys, well, there isn’t much to talk about in that department. The most I’ve done is make out with Joey a few times, mostly because Kristen kept pushing us together. But kissing Joey wasn’t even enjoyable. It was actually a little gross. Nothing like movies make you think.
Anyway, after what happened on New Year’s, I’m never going to drink again. And probably will never kiss anyone ever again, either. Chances are I’ll die alone. Surrounded by cats. Oh, God. I can see it all so clearly. I’ll be the crazy cat lady chasing kids off her lawn with a broom.
“I told your father this would happen,” she continues. “We should have pulled you out of that school. Those kids are barbaric.” She rearranges the fabric sheets boxes absently, and I notice the slight tremor in her hands. She’s really worried about me. I feel that twinge again, the guilty twist in my gut.
I always wondered what it’d be like to grow up in a big family like my mom did. She and Dad made a conscious decision for me to be an only child. Yeah, there are perks—like never having to share my room or toys or attention. But it might be nice, in times like these, to have someone to confide in, or at least commiserate with. Maybe an older sibling, someone who would be able to tell me that all of this high school stuff doesn’t matter. That things will get better. My parents can tell me as much as they like, and maybe they’re right, but I’m never going to fully believe it.