This is the twelfth part in a series, so if you have not already done so, you might want to read Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, and Part XI before continuing.
I stomp out of the office, flinging my arms back and forth as I do so, and glaring at everyone and everything around me. I’m desperate for someone to scream at, but the halls are practically deserted, and it’s not like shouting down a janitor would help my case.
When we get to the car, I throw myself into it and slam the door behind me before yelling out all my frustrations.
My mom waits outside the car until I’m done. When she finally opens the driver’s-side door, lets herself in, and closes it behind her, it’s with exaggerated quiet and slowness. Or maybe that’s just how it appears after my overly-dramatic exhibition of emotion.
“Do you feel better now?” she asks, managing to keep all but a hint of sarcasm from her voice.
“A little,” I rumble, my voice raspy from the scream.
“Have you talked to Addie’s parents?”
The question takes me aback. “What?”
She repeats the question.
I squirm in my seat, just the idea of talking to them making me uncomfortable. “Why would I do that?”
“Because I looked at your social media posts. You may not have caused her death, but you certainly didn’t help the situation. The least you can do is apologize to her family for the way you treated her.”
“She started it.” I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but I’m getting really tired of everyone trying to blame me for someone else’s decision to take a bunch of pills.
“Did she?”
“Yes.”
“I saw her post, and yes, it said some unkind things about you.”
I snort at what an understatement it is to call it “unkind.”
Mom ignores me as she continues, “But it also looked like it came from a place of pain. Were you completely honest with her about why you wanted to go to Homecoming with her?”
I squirm some more, remembering the things I said about her in that bathroom. I never would have said them if I had known she was listening.
Mom takes my non-answer as the answer she was more-or-less expecting.
“Why don’t you think about that tonight? Tomorrow we’ll go bring them some flowers.”
To be continued…