I should’ve expected this, but… It wouldn’t be the first time my mother forgot my birthday, and honestly, it’s better that way.
For me.
I draw a steadying breath, filling my lungs with hot, sticky air, and steel my resolve as I swipe to reveal the full message.
Nora: Happy birthday, baby. Twenty-two and fully grown! Do you think you could send your mama some cash? I’m a little light this week and food prices are insane.
Jesus Christ. The woman has no shame. She couldn’t even be bothered to type a separate message for the cash grab.
Typical.
Red-hot fury bubbles up from the pit of my stomach. Six months of radio silence and now this? A birthday text wrapped in manipulation and guilt?
Talk about the gift that keeps on giving.
My pace quickens and I blow right past one ivy covered building after the next, fueled by outrage and indignation.
The implication that she won’t be able to eat this week unless I send cash is just too much, especially when we both know she’ll spend whatever I send on booze and cigarettes.
Do not engage.
Anything short of a promise to send money will end in a fight and I’m not about to ruin this night by arguing with a selfish, bitter—
Letting her live rent free in your head is the definition of engaging.
Right. I’ll just leave her on read.
I’m about to lock the phone when another message pops up.
Nora: Don’t ignore me, Piper Reynolds. I brought you into this world.
You little ingrateis unspoken, but heavily implied.
Maybe she’s learning self-control at the ripe old age of forty-two.
Or not. Three little dots appear on the screen and I brace for impact.
Nora: I know you read my message.
Do. Not. Engage.
I huff out a breath, reaching for calm as I round the corner onto Greek Row.
Waverly University is known for its picturesque quad and impressive stonework, but this is a whole other level of extra. Elegant mansions line the street, some brick, some colonial, all massive. I’ve been here before, but only in passing. I’ve never actually set foot in any of these houses, but there’s no way they can be as nice on the inside as they are on the outside. Not with hundreds of drunk students lining their halls and…puking in the yard.
A guy in a pink polo hurls into an azalea bush as his buddies cheer him on from the front porch of ATO.
Gross.
I avert my gaze, giving silent thanks the puker isn’t partying at Sig Chi. They probably have their own messy drunks, but watching someone else toss their cookies doesn’t exactly make me want to pound a beer.
My phone buzzes in my hand and I silently debate the merits of blocking my mother before I break down and read the message.
Nora: Don’t be stingy. I see the pictures on your Instagram.
Nora: You clearly aren’t hurting for grocery money.
The thinly veiled dig at my weight is so on brand it barely registers. The woman has been tearing me down all my life, but after years of guilt and shame, I’ve finally learned to appreciate my body.
