#hdmiwire

I pull up the handle of the suitcase that belongs to me, getting ready to apologize for the mix-up when both of our phones begin ringing at the same time. I nod at her as I scurry away to try and get somewhere I can actually hear whoever is on the phone. Pressing the green answer button and bringing the phone to my ear.

“Hey! Maddy, good you answered,” it’s my dad, and he sounds a little out of breath.

“Dad? Is everything okay? Why didn’t you call from your cell,” I wonder, before realizing that he’s probably in his office still. 

“Yeah, I know, sorry. Listen, my morning meeting ran over and I have another one in a few, so I’m sending a car to pick you up and take you to the apartment, okay?” There's a long inhale before he continues, “Also, a good friend of mine who lives in the same building is in this next meeting, and his kid was supposed to be getting in from Italy at the same time as you. Her name is Amanda, try and find her and get her to wait for the car with you, okay?” I can hear someone knocking on his door as he finishes his ramble. I agree, asking what she looks like so I know who to be looking for, and my stomach drops when the description he gives is of baggage claim girl - great, this is exactly what I need on my first day in New York. 

Swallowing my embarrassment, I hang up the phone and turn around to try and find her again, only to see her looking directly at me. I smile and wave awkwardly, shrugging in a “small world, isn’t it?” kind of way. Her shoes click on the tile as she strides towards me, still grinning. I clear my throat before finally opening my mouth to speak;

“So, Amanda, is it? Sorry for the whole… awkwardness of earlier.” The heat is burning up my face again, and I want to throw myself into the sun. She seems to not be bothered by my rambling and just keeps grinning at me. Briefly, her eyes scan me up and down and I fight the urge to hide myself, regretting my decision to wear sweats on the flight. 

“Mandie is fine,” she says, green eyes boring holes into my soul as she holds out her hand. I accept her handshake, introducing myself as Maddy. The next fifteen minutes are spent reveling in the similarity of our nicknames and getting to know the most basic information about each other, while we wait for the car to arrive. By the time the car is pulling into the airport, I know that Mandie is twenty, has a twin brother, and is also starting at F.I.T. in the coming spring semester. Once we’re in the car, I feel myself starting to nod off, exhausted from the stress of the airport and the looming dread of the twenty missed calls from my mother. Leaning my head back on the leather of the car’s seat, I allow myself to drift off and think back to the events of the last few days.

When I open my eyes, I’m sitting in the living room with Mom and Mags, staring into the roaring fireplace as the two of them process what I’ve just told them. I know that neither of them will like it, but I just hope that it doesn’t reset what Mom has been trying to do.

“Madison you can’t just leave! You… where will you even go? What are you thinking?” My mother’s voice is grating, although I hear genuine concern in it for the first time since I was very young. 

“Marie, she's an adult, and you knew this was coming sooner or later. You can’t keep trying to clip her wings.” Mags is the only voice of reason in the house currently, Mom and I are both too strung up on emotions after our conversation the other day. I’m still reeling from her attempts at apologizing, unsure if I’m really ready to forgive her for icing me out for all these years.

Mom sighing guides me back out of my thoughts again. “I know, Magnolia, I know. I just… there’s still so much I have to say,” she says earnestly. Turning my gaze away from the fire, I finally look at her. Her hair is unkempt compared to her usual state, having let her usually pressed hair go untouched for longer than is normal for her, and her light eyes are brimming with tears. I jerk my head away and stand up, hugging myself.

“Mom… I know, and I’m sorry I just can’t. I love you, you know that, and I don’t want to hurt you, I just can’t be here anymore.” My words come out shakier than I wanted, and I curse myself for allowing even thinking that anything I could ever do would compare to what she put me through.

She scoffs, “What do you mean you ‘can’t be here?’ What is ‘here?’ This house? This room? This family?” The last word is punctuated with a gesture to Mags, and it stings. There it is, I think, it’s over. Her words are painful, and to even insinuate that I don’t care about this family is insane. I try to steady myself with a deep breath before I speak again; just because she’s aiming below the belt doesn’t mean I have to. 

“You know that’s not what I mean, and you also know that I’ve always wanted to go be with Dad. Georgia has never been the right place for me, there’s nothing here that can move me forward,” I take another deep breath, fighting the tears that are bullying their way to the surface. “The ticket is bought, my boxes are shipped, and Dad knows I’m coming. I’m leaving Monday, and that's it.”

Neither of them have anything to say after that, and I hope it stays that way. My phone buzzes once, twice, three times before it starts ringing, but instead of Childish Gambino playing from the speakers, there's a foggy voice calling my name.

“Maddy! Maddy! Maddy, wake up we’re almost there!”

Jolting out of my sleep, I find myself face to face with Mandie. She looks frazzled, her dark brows furrowed and nose scrunched in concern. As I blink away the dream and memories of my mother’s face, I realize that her hands are firmly planted on my shoulders, the cool metal of her rings seeping through my shirt. I straighten myself up, clearing my throat and hoping that she can’t sense the rapid thumping of my heart against my ribs or see the heat I feel on my ears. 

“Sorry,” I mutter, turning to look out the window just as we roll under the covered entrance of my dad’s apartment building. I can still feel her eyes boring into the back of my head, and I briefly wonder if she’d been watching me sleep the whole time. The driver puts the car in park and steps out to open her door for us to climb out.

“Alright ladies, welcome home!” His chipper voice is loud and grating on my ears, but I smile and thank him as I clumsily climb out of the car behind Mandie. “Ah, Miss Carver? Your father asked me to give you this.” The driver holds out a forest green lanyard with two keys and a keycard on it, presumably to enter the building and the apartment. I take the lanyard from him, and as I feel the weight of the keys in my hand, tears begin to well in my eyes at the thought that I had finally made it here. Swallowing my feelings for now, I thank the driver and make my way to the back of the car, where Mandie is, to grab my suitcase. 

I look down at the keys in my hand again, turning them over. One has “ELV'' carved into the front, the other “PH15-B.” The fifteenth floor? Jesus, Dad. The one labeled ELV is an odd shape, and it almost reminds me of the keys that came with those little book fair diaries. It's just the top of a key with a small, hollow tube on the end. 

“You good,” Mandie poses, cocking her head to the side as she takes in my face.

“I’m great.” I can’t help the grin on my face, because I really mean it this time.

We make our way inside, Mandie waving at the front desk attendant as she guides me through the lobby, towards the elevators. The lobby is massive, the ceilings reaching higher than anything I’ve ever seen. The exterior of the building seemed old, but inside its all white, black, and gold, an ultra-modern vortex in the middle of New York. There are two elevators on the far end of the lobby, the one on the left has a sign over it that reads “PENTHOUSE ACCESS LIFT” in cursive, curling letters. The bronze doors slide open a few moments after Mandie pushes the button, and we step inside its mirrored interior. Mandie gestures between me and the floor selection buttons, and I snap out of my awe-induced haze and place the elevator key into the little round spot labeled with the number fifteen, pushing in. As soon as I do, the elevator surges into motion, taking us up to the fifteenth floor.

“So,” Mandie starts, breaking the thick silence with a question. “Georgia, huh? What's that like?” 

“Very… southern. But it's nice, good trees there.” I cringe internally at my own words, staring down at the tiled floor of the elevator and praying it would move faster. Mandie hums, looking up at the mirrors on the ceiling. We spend the rest of the elevator ride in silence, only interrupted by the beeping of the elevator as we pass the other fourteen floors in the building. As we reach our floor, the elevator lurches, and I nearly fall over at the force, reaching out for Mandie on instinct. Quickly, I jerk my hand away as she giggles, asking if I’m alright and saying that I’ll “get used to it.”

The doors slide open again, and we’re met with a hallway that resembles the lobby, a few chairs and tables along the walls leading down to a large window directly opposite the elevator. We step out of the elevator, its bronze doors closing once again to wait for the next person who calls on it. In the middle of the hallway, there are two doors on either side of us, one reading “15-A” and the other “15-B” in the same font as the elevator sign in the lobby. 

“I trust you know how to unlock a door, right Maddy,” Mandie muses, and hearing my name come from her mouth makes bugs crawl up my spine and I shiver, shaking them off.

“I- uh, yeah, I’m good,” I smile at her before picking up the door key on the lanyard, and sticking it in the door. Before Mandie can do the same, I hear her door fling open and a woman cry “Amanda!” in a thick Italian accent - not the kind that you hear in movies, but a real accent, only obtained from a lifetime in Italy. I turn around and see a shorter brunette woman squeezing Mandie, and I assume it's her mother. Smiling at the scene, I return to the key and push the door open, getting smacked in the face by the scent of orange Pine-Sol as I step inside. My grin grows as I imagine my dad running around last night, scrubbing anything he could reach, just like he would before we had people over when I was a kid. 

I close the door and lock it behind me, hanging my keys on one of the hooks next to the door before taking my sneakers off, knowing Dad would kill me if I tracked dirt on his clean floor. I pick the shoes up and make my way into the house, pulling my suitcase behind me. Just beyond the short entry hallway is the living room, the matching gray couches and chairs looking straight out of the Ashley Furniture catalog. I walk through the living room and into the kitchen, taking in the stainless steel appliances and granite counters before my eyes land on something that feels out of place. On the refrigerator door, there’s a piece of Hello Kitty notepad paper hanging from a laughing emoji shaped magnet, both of which were part of my gag gift for Dad’s birthday last year. I smile, taking the pink piece of paper down and sitting at the island counter to read it, leaning my elbows on the cool surface.

“Maddy, 

First, welcome to the ‘Big Apple!’ I’ll take you around all the hot tourist spots this weekend, after you’re more settled. Speaking of, the guest room is down the hall, just past the kitchen. Sam got you all set up with new sheets and pillows and whatnot, and all the boxes you shipped should be in the closet. 

I had my assistant run this note to the house after I called you earlier, I probably won’t be home until 5 - 6 at the absolute latest, promise. Sams out of town with his band, so he won’t be home until the end of the week.

There's probably only White Claws in the fridge, I need to go grocery shopping, but the number for a really good Chinese place is in the drawer next to the fridge. Knock yourself out kid!

Love, Dad”

His little letter warms my heart, and I feel the smile creeping up my face again. I hop up from the counter, leaving the letter there and turning down the hallway past the kitchen. I walk past a bathroom before coming to the door at the end of the hall, taking a deep breath as I twist the knob and push the door open. It's dim at first, light filtering in through a massive window that's partially covered with a sheer set of curtains. I flip the light on, blinking at its brightness for a second before my eyes adjust, and I can take in the room properly. It’s decently sized, a large queen bed sits up against the far wall, covered with white sheets and a mossy green comforter, and a desk sits in front of the huge window. I leave my suitcase by the door, and make my way to the bed, sinking into the soft pillows as soon as my head hits them.

I wake up a few hours later to a chirping noise coming from the kitchen and I sit up, trying to process where I am. I hear the door close and the chirping stops. Probably a security system, I think, standing up and stretching.

“Maddy? You here?” I hear Dad calling from the kitchen, and immediately I burst out of the room and down the hall, tackling him in a hug as soon as he’s in arms reach. He spins me around like he used to when I was a kid after he came home from a long day at work. When we stop spinning, he pulls me close, and we both just stand there, holding each other for the first time in almost a decade. After a few minutes, he pulls back, holding me at arms length and taking in my face.

“My god girl look at you! You look just like Mom,” he says, shaking his head, a large grin spreading across his face again. 

“That's what everyone says these days.” I’m not sure that he actually hears me, too busy taking in the fact that his little girl is all grown up now. I do the same, raking my eyes over his face. He looks the same as he does when we FaceTime, just a little more mature in the real world. His dark beard is occasionally interrupted by a speck of gray, and there are a few more wrinkles by his eyes, but overall he’s the same as when I was little. After a moment of us just observing each other, he clears his throat; 

“I smell like corporate, let me shower and then we’ll talk for real, yeah?” I nod, and after he disappears past the living room and into his bedroom, I go back towards mine, deciding that now is probably a good time to finally call Mom back. Before I make it to my door, there's a knock at the front door, and I jump a little. 

“Will you get that, Maddy? It’s probably Ronen.” Mandie’s dad… awesome, I think jogging over to the door so he doesn’t have to stand there waiting. I open the door, expecting to just see one man, but there are suddenly four people in front of me; Mandie, the brunette woman who I assumed was her mother, a guy who looks almost like an evil mirror version of Mandie, and a taller, blonde man wearing gold, wire-frame glasses.

“Ah hello,” the man with the glasses says, throwing his hands up in excitement, “you must be Madison! I’m Ronen Volta, your father’s business partner. This is my lovely, lovely wife, Celina, and my son Adam, and - well you’ve already met Amanda, yes?” Ronen smiles as he gestures proudly towards his family, and his wife flushes at his sentiments. 

“Yes, yes I have. It’s nice to meet you all I- would you like to come in?” I feel very awkward, still wearing my clothes from the plane, and I’m suddenly very aware of my choice to not rebraid my hair before I left home. I step to the side so the four of them can walk in, and Ronen smiles even wider, taking Celina’s arm as the pair make their way inside, followed closely by Mandie and Adam. Adam doesn’t speak, cutting me a stinging look when he walks by, and Mandie just shrugs, muttering something about how he’s a prick. The five of us sit down in the living room, talking about everything from the flight to Georgia to starting school in January. Eventually, Dad comes out of his room, apologizing for the delay and announcing that he ordered Chinese for everyone. This causes Ronen to laugh and applause, and Celina smacks his arm, reprimanding him for being so loud. When the food arrives, we relocate to the dining table, eating and laughing and catching up as if we were all old friends.

After several hours of laughing and eating and drinking, Ronen and his family take their leave back across the hall, inviting us over for a “proper dinner” next weekend. Dad shows them out, hugging Ronen and exchanging a peck on each cheek with Celina before closing the door. On his way to the living room, he takes a detour to grab two White Claws from the fridge, tossing one to me as he flops on the couch, letting out a long sigh.

“Love that family to death, but lord can Ronen talk your ear off,” he says, cracking open the frosted beverage and slurping up the bit of it that gathers on the lip of the can. Then, he turns to look at me, watching as I do the same with my can.

“Did anyone ever tell you about the day that I actually told your mom I thought I was gay?” He asks, but I don’t respond. He isn’t really asking, he knows the answer is “no.” “It was the day before your ninth birthday party, and you were sitting in the kitchen licking the beaters from your cake. I thought Marie’s head was going to explode, but then she just started crying instead. She didn’t yell, didn’t cuss me, didn’t say anything other than ‘how could you not tell me.’” 

“I know,” I say, remembering back to that day, hearing only the snippets of what Mom was saying to him out on the back porch. He sighs again, staring out the windows behind me before he continues.

“Yeah, I figured. I probably should’ve handled the whole thing better, but there's only so much you can do after nearly three decades of denial, you know?” He looks at me again, and I just nod. After that, he chugs the rest of his drink, slamming the can down on the dark wood of the coffee table.

He stands up, groaning and saying, “You’ve had a long day, we’ll talk more in the morning, alright kid?” He reaches a hand out and pats my cheek before picking his can up and walking to the kitchen. He drops it in the trash and then makes a beeline for his bedroom, calling out “I love you” over his shoulder.

“About?” She raises her eyebrow as she steps inside, slipping off her shoes by the door.

“Y- I… it's not important,” shaking my head, I motion for her to follow me back to my room so Dad and Sam aren’t disturbed by us talking. She follows without posing any follow up questions.

It's 3:45 am when we both flop down on my bed, laying shoulder to shoulder as if this is something we’ve done for years. It's quiet for a while, both of us taking in the hundreds of glow-in-the-dark stars Dad stuck up last week, just like when I was a kid. The bed shifts as Mandie moves to lay on her side, propping herself up on an elbow. I turn to look at her.

“You were about to admit to thinking about me, weren’t you?” She has a shit eating grin on her face when she asks it.

“Oh, would you look at the time! Goodnight,” I say, rolling away from her to hide my burning face. She pulls softly on my shoulder to make me face her again. She’s leaning over me, blonde hair falling out of its loose ponytail around her face.

“You can admit it, y’know… I was thinking about you, too. That’s mostly why I came over.” She’s dropped the grin, and I can tell by her facial expression that she's dead serious. I shuffle on the bed, scooting back against the headboard to get out from under her gaze, but she follows me, perching on her knees in front of me. My face burns more, the flush seeping its way up my neck all the way to the tips of my ears.

“Mandie…” is all I manage to squeak out before I make eye contact with her again; brows furrowed and lips pursed as she watches my face. I turn my head to the side, hugging my knees. The bed shifts again when Mandie moves closer to me. I can see her out of the corner of my eye, her face more relaxed as she raises a hand and gently tilts my head to look at her again.

It’s 3:59 am when Mandie presses her lips to mine, one hand cupping my cheek and the other grabbing at my leg. My mind snaps into hyperdrive, moving a million miles a minute. Her hands drop to my hips, mine grasp at her long-fallen hair, she pulls me impossibly closer. For a second, she pulls away and I chase her, finally opening my eyes again when she lifts me off of the bed. Now, I sit perched on her lap, her arms circling me as our foreheads bump together. Her hands move to rest under my shirt, and this time I’m the one to pull her closer, lips connecting, hearts drumming like a marching band.

It’s 4:04 am when

“I love you.”

“Terrance brought by some fresh chicken, so we outta take some supper by his wife in the morning. I heard that the little ones sick again, she could use it.”

“Mhm. I’ll take it on my way out.” 

And thats it. The two of us fall back into our usual routine, working in a dance-like rhythm around the small kitchen, with a backing track of boiling water and knives on wood. It's nice like this, before Mom interrupts the peace. It's almost a wonder she hasn’t come downstairs yet, but based on the silence in the house, I can almost guarantee that Mags told her what-for before I got home. Good, the bitch needs to be humbled sometimes. 

I’m chuckling to myself at the thought of my grown-ass mother upstairs sulking in her bedroom, when my phone chimes - an email. I set down the knife I was using to chop potatoes and rinse my hands before picking it up, knowing its probably just another rejection letter from an influencer’s management team. I look down at the screen and - oh shit!

“Oh shit! Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!”

My eyes go wide and I can feel my heart beating in my throat. Everything around me seems to be moving in slow motion as I read the subject line over and over a million times: “Welcome to F.I.T., Madison!”

Mags jumps, hand flying to her chest, “Maddy! What is it, what’s all that hollering for?”

I can’t even form words, my hands flap around wildly while I try to show her the email, shoving my phone in her face instead. She takes the phone from my hand and pulls her wire-frame glasses down to her eyes. A beat passes of me pinching my own cheeks while she reads, really hoping this isn’t one of those times where I’m dreaming again.

As she processes what the email says, a grin spreads across her face and she screams, “My god girl! Would you look at you!”

She tosses my phone on the counter and I jump at her, wrapping my arms around her neck and letting tears of relief and joy fall. All these years of dreaming and scrimping and saving and portfolio building and its finally real. It's finally happening, all I have to do is get there, which is the easy part.

A feigned cough disrupts my joy - Marie. Good, just what I need. Mags and I separate ourselves, her humming while she returns to the soup and me rubbing tears from my eyes with the heels of my hands. Mom is holding my phone, a scowl on her face while she reads the notice of my freedom from her.

“You’re not going. End of story,” is all she has to say before dropping my phone back on the counter. She's never wanted me to get out of Blairsville, even when I was a kid, and wanted to go with my dad when they separated, but she couldn’t have that, couldn’t let him “win” me. Usually, I wouldn’t let this bother me - I’d ignore her and go up to my room like I have for the rest of my life - but this time is the last - and I do mean last - time I’m going to let her treat me like this. I sniff and cross my arms, fists clenched under my armpits; I may not want her to think she's going to win this one, but I have to keep a level head. My blood is boiling, and I can feel the heat rising up my neck as I run through a million options of what I could - no - what I should say. 

She's standing across the small island from me, staring me down. Her eyes shift to just above my right eye, just for a split second, to the patch of white hair that, no doubt, reminds her of my father, and makes her blood boil as much as mine is now. I almost pity the bitch - keyword almost - her husband left her and then his business took off, and she was stuck with a living, breathing reminder of the person she hated most in this world: me. Never mind the fact that Mags always taught her to, and I quote, “wrap it before you tap it.” She was clearly never one for listening to others. 

Suddenly, I’m struck by all twenty years of pent up emotions towards her, and can only think of one thing to say: “Fuck you, Marie. Just fuck you.”

I snatch my phone up and make a beeline for the stairs, rapidly dialing my dad’s number and hoping to get to my room before more, less happy, tears spill from my eyes. I lock my door while the phone rings, trying to steady my breath so I can talk to him calmly. 

The phone stops ringing, and at first its just the sounds of a New York subway, and momentarily I wonder if I’m interrupting his evening. 

“My girl, my girl, my favorite girl! Something must be wrong, you never call your father.”

I nod my head, preparing myself to figure out our suitcase conundrum, when another of the same green suitcase comes rolling by on the conveyor belt. She grabs this one as well, placing it next to the other one between us. I lean over to check the baggage tags and see which one is mine, hoping to get this over with and get out of this hell hole before I say something stupid.

I pull up the handle of the suitcase that belongs to me, getting ready to apologize for the mix up when both of our phones begin ringing at the same time. I nod at her as I scurry away to try and get somewhere I can actually hear whoever is on the phone. I don’t recognize the number, but I press the green answer button and bring the phone to my ear.

“Hey! Maddy,” its my dad, and he sounds a little out of breath.

“Hey Dad, is everything okay? Why didn’t you call from your cell,” I wonder, before realizing that he’s probably in his office still.

“Yeah I know, sorry. Listen, my morning meeting ran over and I have another one in a few, so I’m sending a car to pick you up and take you to the apartment, okay?” There's a long inhale before he continues, “Also, a good friend of mine who lives in the same building is in this next meeting, and his kid was supposed to be getting in from Italy at the same time as you. Her name is Amanda, try and find her and get her to wait for the car with you, okay?” I can hear someone knocking on his door as he finishes his ramble. I agree, asking what she looks like so I know who to be looking for, and my stomach drops when the description he gives is of baggage claim girl - great, this is exactly what I need on my first day in New York.

Swallowing my embarrassment, I hang up the phone and turn around to try and find her again, only to see her looking directly at me. I can only assume that her phone was ringing with her dad delivering a similarly rushed message. I smile and wave awkwardly, shrugging in a “small world, isn’t it?” kind of way. Her shoes click on the tile as she strides towards me, still grinning. I clear my throat before finally opening my mouth to speak;

“So, Amanda, is it? Sorry for the whole… awkwardness of earlier.” I feel the heat burning up my face again, and I want to throw myself into the sun. She seems to not be bothered by my rambling, and just keeps grinning at me. Briefly, her eyes scan me up and down and I fight the urge to hide myself, regretting my decision to wear sweats on the flight.

“Mandie is fine,” she says, green eyes boring holes into my soul as she holds out her hand. I accept her handshake, introducing myself as Maddy. The next fifteen minutes are spent reveling in the similarity of our nicknames and getting to know the most basic information about each other, while we wait for the car to arrive. By the time the car is pulling into the airport, I know that Mandie is twenty, has a twin brother, and is also starting at F.I.T. in the coming spring semester. Once we’re in the car, I feel myself starting to nod off, exhausted from the stress of the airport and the twenty missed calls from my mother. Leaning my head back on the leather of the car’s seat, I allow myself to drift off and think back to the events of the last few days.

I’m sitting in the living room with Mom and Mags, staring into the roaring fireplace as the two of them process what I’ve just told them. I know that neither of them will like it, but I just hope that it doesn’t reset what mom has been trying to do.

“Madison you can’t just leave! You… where will you even go? What are you thinking?” My mother’s voice is grating, although I hear genuine concern in it for the first time since I was very young.

“Marie, she's an adult, and you knew this was coming sooner or later. You can’t keep trying to clip her wings.” Mags is the only voice of reason in the house currently, Mom and I are both too strung up on emotions after our conversation the other day. I’m still reeling from her attempts at apologizing, unsure if I’m really ready to forgive her for icing me out for all these years.

Mom sighing guides me back out of my thoughts again. “I know, Magnolia, I know. I just… there’s still so much I have to say,” she says earnestly. I turn my gaze away from the fire to finally look at her. Her hair is unkempt compared to her usual state, having let her usually pressed hair go untouched for longer than is normal for her, and her light eyes are brimming with tears. I jerk my head away and stand up, hugging myself.

“Mom… I know, and I’m sorry I just can’t. I love you, you know that, and I don’t want to hurt you, I just can’t be here anymore.” My words come out shakier than I wanted, and I curse myself for allowing even thinking that anything I could ever do would compare to what she put me through.

She scoffs, “What do you mean you ‘can’t be here?’ What is ‘here?’ This house? This room? This family?” The last word is punctuated with a gesture to Mags, and it stings. There it is, I think, it’s over. Her words are painful, and to even insinuate that I don’t care about this family is insane. I try to steady myself with a deep breath before I speak again. Just because she’s aiming below the belt doesn’t mean I have to.

“You know that’s not what I mean, and you also know that I’ve always wanted to go be with Dad. Georgia has never been the right place for me, there’s nothing here that can move me forward,” I take another deep breath, fighting the tears that are bullying their way to the surface. “The ticket is bought, my boxes are shipped, Dad knows I’m coming. I’m leaving Monday, and that's it.”

Neither of them have anything to say after that, and I hope it stays that way. My phone buzzes once, twice, three times before it starts ringing, but instead of Childish Gambino playing from the speakers, there's a foggy voice calling my name.

“Maddy! Maddy! Maddy, wake up we’re almost there!”

I jump out of my sleep, coming face to face with Mandie. She looks frazzled, her dark brows furrowed and nose scrunched in concern. As I blink away the dream and memories of my mother’s face, I realize that her hands are firmly planted on my shoulders, the cool metal of her rings seeping through my shirt. I straighten myself up, clearing my throat and hoping that she can’t sense the rapid thumping of my heart against my ribs or see the heat I feel on my ears.

“Sorry,” I mutter, turning to look out the window just as we roll under the covered entrance of my dad’s apartment building. I can still feel her eyes boring into the back of my head, and I briefly wonder if she’d been watching me sleep the whole time. The driver puts the car in park and steps out to open her door for us to climb out.

“Alright ladies, welcome home!” His chipper voice is loud and grating on my ears, but I smile and thank him as I clumsily climb out of the car behind Mandie. “Ah, Miss Carver? Your father asked me to give you this.” The driver holds out a forest green lanyard with two keys and a keycard on it, presumably to enter the building and the apartment.

"So jumpy, Madds! Get'cha scrawny self in this house and help me with supper ."

Her giggles slowly fade as she pulls my door open, making my choice for me. With a groan, I grab my bag out of the passenger seat and finally force my feet onto the ground, her umbrella keeping the warm brown leather of my boots safe from the cold winter droplets. We walk arm-in-arm up the gravel drive, not in any rush to remove ourselves from the familiar woodsy surroundings.

Inside, I sit down on the plush, yellow ottoman to unlace my boots, briefly absorbing the warmth from the crackling cherrywood in the fireplace. The couch holds evidence that Mags was lounging in here for some time before I got home, her blanket tossed to the side and crochet hook long forgotten, yellow yarn still wrapped around it. The sight brings a small smile to my face, but Mags doesn't let me lounge for long, calling me to the kitchen.

"Terrance brought by some fresh chicken, so we outta take some supper by his wife in the morning. I heard that the little ones sick again, she could use it."

"Mhm. I'll take it on my way out."

And that's it. The two of us fall back into our usual routine, working in a dance-like rhythm around the small kitchen, with a backing track of boiling water and knives on wood. It's always nice like this, before Mom interrupts the peace. It's a wonder she hasn't come downstairs yet, but based on the silence in the house, I can almost guarantee that Mags told her what-for before I got home. Good, the bitch needs to be humbled sometimes.

I'm chuckling to myself at the thought of my grown-ass mother upstairs sulking in her bedroom when my phone chimes - an email. I set down the knife I was using to chop potatoes and rinse my hands before picking it up, knowing it's probably just another rejection letter from an influencer's management team. I look down at the screen and - oh shit!

"Oh shit! Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!"

My eyes go wide and I can feel my heart beating in my throat. Everything around me seems to be moving in slow motion as I read the subject line over and over a million times: "Welcome to F.I.T., Madison!"

Mags jumps, hand flying to her chest, "Maddy! What is it, what's all that hollering for?"

I can't even form words, my hands flap around wildly while I try to show her the email, shoving my phone in her face instead. She takes the phone from my hand and pulls her wire-frame glasses down to her eyes. A beat passes of me pinching my own cheeks while she reads, really hoping this isn't one of those times where I'm dreaming again.

As she processes what the email says, a grin spreads across her face and she screams, "My god girl! Would you look at you!"

She tosses my phone on the counter and I jump at her, wrapping my arms around her neck and letting tears of relief and joy fall. After all these years of dreaming and scrimping and saving and portfolio building and it's finally real. It's finally happening, all I have to do is get there, which is the easy part.

A feigned cough disrupts my joy - Marie. Good, just what I need. Mags and I separate ourselves, her humming while she returns to the soup and me rubbing tears from my eyes with the heels of my hands. Mom is holding my phone, a scowl on her face while she reads the notice of my freedom from her.

"You're not going. End of story," is all she has to say before dropping my phone back on the counter. She's never wanted me to get out of Blairsville, even when I was a kid, and wanted to go with my dad when they separated, but she couldn't have that, couldn't let him "win" me. Usually, I wouldn't let this bother me - I'd ignore her and go up to my room like I have for the last ten years - but this time is the last - and I do mean last - time I'm going to let her treat me like this. I sniff and cross my arms, fists clenched under my armpits; I may not want her to think she's going to win this one, but I have to keep a level head. My blood is boiling, and I can feel the heat rising up my neck as I run through a million options of what I could - no - what I should say.

She's standing across the small island from me, staring me down. Her eyes shift to just above my right eye, just for a split second, to the patch of white hair that, no doubt, reminds her of my father, and makes her blood boil as much as mine is now. I almost pity the bitch - keyword almost - with one signature she lost her best friend and husband, and she was stuck with a living, breathing reminder of the person she hated most in this world: me.

Suddenly, I'm struck by all twenty years of pent-up emotions toward her, and can only think of one thing to say:

"Fuck you, Marie. Just fuck you."

I snatch my phone up and make a beeline for the stairs, rapidly dialing my dad's number and hoping to get to my room before more, less happy, tears spill from my eyes. I lock my door while the phone rings, trying to steady my breath so I can talk to him calmly.

The phone stops ringing, and at first, it's just the sounds of a New York subway, and momentarily I wonder if I'm interrupting his evening.

"My girl, my girl, my favorite girl! Something must be wrong, you never call your father."

Through his southern twang, I can practically hear the raise of his white eyebrow, and can't help but giggle at his apt observation of me - I really do hate phone calls. Phone calls with my dad, however, have always been my favorite.

"You know I always call you old man, besides, your wife is being a bitch again."

The last part comes out in a huff as I flop backward onto my bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars I stuck on the ceiling forever ago. On the phone, he clicks his tongue at me in disapproval, and I can just imagine him shaking his head, thick black locs swaying with the movement.

"Madison you ought watch what you say, she's your mother. And that can't be the only reason you called, so spill."

Unfortunately, he's right - I may not like her but she is my mother and I do love her. It's very complicated but I suppose now really isn't the time to dwell on that, because I do have more pressing news. Sitting up, I scoot back to lean on the headboard, grabbing the stuffed snow leopard I've had since I was a baby for emotional support.

"So… your spare bedroom empty still?" The silence that follows my question makes me dizzy, and my thumb finds its way between my teeth as I nervously wait for what he has to say. His howling laughter makes me jump, yanking the phone away from my ear before putting him on speaker.

"So you did it," he starts, words coming out between gasps for air, "my girl got into her dream school eh? I always knew you could, never doubted for a second!"

My cheeks flush again at his words, and suddenly my room is very hot. I stand up to pull the string on my ceiling fan, while dad spews more praise on the phone. I dig through the mountain of shit on my desk for something to pull my braids up off my neck, finally landing on a large green claw clip that Mags gave me for my birthday over the summer.

I shed my sweatshirt before twisting the light brown ends up to the back of my head, clipping them there, and turning back to my phone where dad is finishing up his rambling.

"Are you quite finished Malik, you know I hate listening to people talk about me."

He chuckles again, "Aht aht, mind how you speak to me, little girl. I- oh damn. One second I can't find my keys."

I flop back down on the bed, shaking my head. The man would lose his if it wasn't attached, although I'm sure he could find a way to lose it now anyways. Once he finally locates his keys, our conversation continues for a few hours, the same nonsense we talk about every week with a new topic of conversation: how fast I can get to New York.

I drift off to sleep once dad hangs up after saying something about "wining and dining" a new client, hoping to find myself in his apartment once I wake up.

The sound of arguing across the hall wakes me from my nap - Mom and Dad are arguing again. They think I don't know that they're getting a divorce, but I could tell. I could tell a long time ago, even before they could, because Dad doesn't look at Mom like she looks at him. I don't know if that's bad or good, but their arguing annoys me. I just want them to get it over with so I can go stay with Dad. I hope he goes to New York. I love New York.

I sit up and climb out of the bed, checking my neon green alarm clock for the time - 6:32 pm. It's probably a good thing I'm awake then. I open my bedroom door quietly, hoping that they won't notice that I can hear them, and tiptoe my way downstairs to see if grandma is in the living room.

"Memaw? Are you down here?" My words are a whisper, as if it was the dead of night and not just suppertime.

"Yes girl, bring yourself in here," she calls out to me from the kitchen. Rounding the corner from the bottom of the stairs, I take in the scene in front of me: my grandmother, Magnolia, dances her way across the wooden floors of the kitchen, her coily, almost-gray hair pulled back out of her face with a yellow bandana, and wire-framed glasses perched on her nose. She moves to invisible music, dancing between her standing mixer and the refrigerator. She's making my birthday cake, and I think she looks so beautiful like this. I skip my way over to sit at the island where she works, propping my head up on my hands while she cracks an egg into the mixer's silver bowl.

"Mom and Dad are arguing again. I wish they would just get over it already, it's my birthday."

Magnolia hums, powering on the mixer.

"Maddy, you know they both love you, they've just got some… things to work out. It'll get better, just hold on, okay?" She reaches over and squeezes my hand before running a finger over the white hair on my eyebrow, a soft smile on her face as she thinks of her son upstairs.

"Memaw that tickles," I can't suppress my giggle and I lean back, trying to dodge her touch. "And I know that they love me, it's just… I just wish they would divorce already. I'm tired of the stupid stuff."

My hair falls down into my face as I huff and cross my arms, trying and failing to blow it back into place. Memaw sighs, turning her attention back to the cake batter. She lifts the mixer out of the bowl and hands me one of the beaters with a wink before pouring the mix into her two round tins.

"I know girl, it's hard." She places the two tins into the oven and then bumps it closed with her knee. She puts the bowl into the sink and grabs the other beater, sitting down beside me at the island.

She pushes my hair back for me while I lick the chocolate off the beater, humming to herself again.

"We gotta do something with that mop before your party tomorrow, my star. Any thoughts?"

I shrug, too focused on the task in front of me to care much about tomorrow. Tomorrow is my tenth birthday, and usually, I wouldn't agree to this party nonsense but Memaw talked me into it. Eventually, the two of us fall into a comfortable silence, Memaw rinsing the dishes and me thinking about what to wear tomorrow.

"Mama! Can we talk to you? Outside?"

My dad calling from the living room startles me, and I turn to see both my parents standing in the living room. Mom looks angry, her gaze falling directly on the white birthmark that Dad and I share. Dad just looks… he looks sad. Hes looked sad for a long time I think, but this is different. He looks defeated.

Memaw nods and wipes her hands on her apron before taking it off and hanging it by the back door.

"Maddy girl keep an eye on the timer and turn the oven off when it dings, mkay?"

I nod, grabbing the ticking timer from beside the stove being careful to not bump the knob as I watch the three of them file out the back door and close it, leaving me in the kitchen by myself. I make my way to the living room, sitting in the big leather armchair that once belonged to my Grandpa, who I never met. I put the timer on the coffee table, watching the little knob slowly tick closer to zero. Faintly, I can hear Mom saying something about  "paperwork" and "how would you not tell me."

As the ticking of the timer slowly lulls me into a light sleep, I secretly hope that whatever Dad didn't tell her is the final straw.

I jolt out of my sleep at a knock on my bedroom door. Groaning, I roll myself off the bed and onto my feet, reaching behind my head for the clip that is now slipping from my brief nap. I shake my braids down from their twisted position and open the door, only to be face-to-face with Marie again.

"Oh. I- hi, Mom."

"Mhm. So it's Mom now? Not Marie?"

"Mom I-"

"Save it," she cuts me off and I just know that I'm in for it. "I'm sorry. I just- I- I can't keep being mad at you for something that you can't control."

I can't say anything so I just stand there, blinking at the alien creature in front of me. It's not like her to apologize, especially to me. She sighs, pulling her deep blue cardigan closed over her chest.

"Maddy can we just… can we just talk? Not mother to daughter, but just talk? Please."

Still reeling from her seemingly genuine apology, I nod and step to the side for her to come in. I push the door to before sitting down on the edge of my bed, gesturing for her to sit at my desk chair. She spins it around so we can face each other, and I wait for her to speak first.

She clears her throat, "Listen, Maddy, I know I haven't been the best mother to you-" I scoff. She cuts her eyes at me and I mutter out a sorry.

"Anyways, I know I haven't been the best to you, and I know that there's nothing I could ever, ever say or do to make you forgive me, but I feel so much… so much shame. I should never have taken my problems with your father out on you. You didn't deserve that."

She reaches out to touch my knee and I stand up, going to walk next to the door while I think of what to say. I pace back and forth for a moment before I turn to look at her again. She sits with her hands in her lap, staring at the stuffed leopard on my bed. I still don't say anything, I just look at her and think. Her brown hair is straightened and pulled back, just like every other Sunday, and she looks like she hasn't slept in days. Her skin, usually a warm brown that feels full of life almost looks gray. Her eyes are tired, the bags making them look smaller and darker than I remembered. I wonder what she's thinking about, what made her come to me wanting to talk after all these years.

As I'm thinking of what to say, she suddenly inhales a deep breath and sits up straight, pulling her cardigan close again. She stands to leave, probably thinking that this was a mistake.

"Wait, Mom-"

"No, Maddy, it's okay. I shouldn't have expected you to want to talk right now. Tomorrow?"

"I- yeah. Tomorrow." I feel defeated. I watch as she opens the door and walks down the hall to her room, and something in me breaks. I close my door and lock it back as the tears flow again, sliding down to the floor and bumping my elbow on the doorknob. Ignore the pain as I think back on the last ten years, and all the ways I should've seen that she was hurting too. I know that doesn't excuse the way she treated me, but at the very least it explains it.

Eventually, I manage to ground myself and I decide that I need to get out. Now. Frantically, I grab clothes out of my closet and throw them into trash bags. I'll get boxes later, I think, shoving everything I can into as few bags as possible. I lug them down the stairs, save for a few things I’m putting in an actual suitcase, and throw them into the backseat of my car, completely ignoring the rain that's still falling rapidly.

Back inside, I sit down at my desk, surrounded by the chaos of just moments before and open my laptop to a new browser tab, typing as frantically as I was just packing.