TMI (2014 Collector's Dream Winner)

TMI - Chapter 37

Meg ran.

She couldn’t go home.

Chase would look for her there and she couldn’t face him. Not yet.

Her chest burned and her stomach pitched but she kept running. Pauline was at work and would probably flip out if Meg called her, but she needed her mother. Meg ducked into the Starbuck’s near the high school and called her mother.

“Megan, what’s wrong?”

“Mom.” She managed to squeeze out of her burning chest. “Oh, God, Mom.”

Thirty minutes later, Pauline had Meg tucked onto the couch in the living room, a cup of hot cocoa in her hand.

"Megan. Let me see your hand."

Meg stared at her hand for a moment.

"Does it hurt?"

She flexed it, and felt the answering burn. Right. “I—um— forgot about it.”

Her mother gave her a tired smile. "Yeah. I guess you would. So when did all this start?”

Meg caught her up, finishing with that morning’s performance in the main corridor.

Pauline reached out, tucked a lock of hair behind Meg’s ear. “Honey, I owe you an apology.”

Meg’s eyes went round. “For what?”

Her mother lowered her eyes and lifted a shoulder. “The last time we talked, I told you to stop over-reacting to this thing between Bailey and Ryder. I was wrong and you were right and I’m so sorry.”

Meg handed her mug to her mother and buried her face in her hands. Pauline put the cup on the table and stroked Meg’s hair until she fell into a restless sleep. It was hours later when she jolted awake, still in her mother’s arms.

“Mom! What time is it?”

Pauline glanced at the clock on the TV cable box. "About noon.”

"You didn't go back to work?"

"No. You needed me more.” Pauline stood and headed into the kitchen with the now-cold cup of cocoa. “Hungry?”

"Need the money, Mom."

Meg scraped out a chair and sat at the kitchen table.

"We don't need money that badly." Pauline took the can opener to the top of a tuna fish can.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have called you.”

"Meg, honey, I am so glad that you did. You needed me. You never need me.”

Meg pressed her lips together and looked away. "I'm sorry." She repeated. "I didn’t want you to worry." I didn’t want you to leave me, too.

“Give me your hand.” Pauline washed her hands and started unwrapping the layers of gauze to the black row of puffy stitches between Meg's thumb and index finger. "So much blood. I cleaned up what I could. But your painting is ruined."

Meg's head shot up. "Did you move it?"

"No." Her mother held up her hands. "I know better than to touch your work."

Her mother's smile and raised eyebrow made Meg shift uncomfortably. When she was little, her mother used to clean her room and move her paintings while they were still wet. Meg had stomped her little feet and shouted and raged until her mother promised never to move one of her "masterpieces" again.

Meg's lips twitched. "I was so full of artistic temperament back then."

"Was?" Her mother laughed and reached for her handbag. She pulled out a drugstore bag, emptied its contents on the table. Fresh gauze, antibiotic ointment, tape, analgesic cream, and one last item that made Meg laugh out loud: Hello Kitty bandages.

"I bought all this the other day. Remember these?" her mother asked.

"Yeah," she nodded. It was a lifetime ago. When she was little and skinned her knee, her mother always put a pink Hello Kitty bandage over her wounds when she got home from work that night. It was all Meg ever needed to feel better. Then, her father died and nothing held that kind of power again.

She stopped laughing. "Thanks, Mom."

Her mother squeezed antibacterial ointment over a gauze pad and glanced up at her with a smirk. "You never told me… how did it go at Chase's house?"

Meg flinched. "Fine."

The smirk spread to a grin. "That's it? 'Fine?'"

"Mom. Seriously. He tucked me into his bed— "

"He tucked you into HIS bed?"

"Relax! He slept on the couch, downstairs." Meg's face burst into flames and she forced her hands not to fan it.

"It's wonderful that you have someone who cares about you so much."

Meg forced her gaping mouth to shut and fought the urge to check her mother for alien implants or something – anything -- that could explain her comment. It was—well, it was downright romantic and her mother was – as a rule –not.

"I love him, Mom. It's — it's confusing and annoying and distracting and exciting and scary but I can’t help it.” She spread her arms apart. “I haven’t been able to tell him that yet.”

Her mother's tired eyes lost their glint of humor before they once again fell to Meg's injured hand. She quietly wrapped the medicated gauze pad with a few more layers of gauze and taped it in place. "Meg, I think it’s wonderful. You’re such a bright and talented girl. Chase is lucky to have you.” Pauline went back to the tuna and mixed in a little mayonnaise.

Lucky?

Cursed was more accurate.

“Where is he, by the way?”

Meg shrugged. “At school, I guess.”

“Hmm. I’m surprised he didn’t call or text or even follow you. You were hysterical before.”

Frowning, Meg tugged her phone out of her pocket. No texts.

She stared down at the tuna sandwich Pauline slid across the table, her stomach revolting at the thought of food. “Mom. What if he… you know…changed his mind?”

Pauline smiled grimly and ran a hand over Meg’s hair. “It happens, honey. Better you should find out before —”

Meg understood what her mother left unsaid. She took her sandwich to her room and tried to work on her portfolio, which was hard because everything in it was Chase. She kept staring at her phone.

It insisted on remaining spitefully silent.