Page 56 of Someone Like Me
“No, Mom. I’m an adult. It’s my life—”
“First your drop out of school, and then you work in a field with no future, and now you’re spending all this time with that Moroux—”
“Don’t you dare.” I snarl the words through gritted teeth. “Don’t you dare speak his name.”
Out of all the insults I’ve endured tonight, this is the one I will not abide.
I hear my mother’s quick intake of breath. “Evie.” She’s startled. Scandalized. Hearing the disappointment in the way she says my name has brought me to my knees again and again.
But not tonight.
“Enough,” I rasp, almost choking my anger. “I’ve heard enough.”
I manage to end the call without breaking down, despite my mother’s repeated pleas tojust listen.But even in the relative silence of my racing thoughts, I find no peace.
I try again to sit in meditation, but one thought keeps cycling through my mind.
I can’t stay here.
I can’t stay here.
I can’t stay here.
If there’s anything that conversation with my mother revealed — and it revealedeverything —it’s that I have to. HAVE TO. Move out.
There is no other option. My entire family still sees me as a child. They have orchestrated all our lives, in secret, based on that belief. And it has cost my sister’s happiness. Her freedom.
It’s also cost mine, though I’m only now realizing it.
I know I will not have peace until I can at least prove to myself that the way they see me does not define who I am. So I have to move out.
Right now.
I spring up from my meditation bench and change out of my pajamas into clean clothes. I grab a duffle bag from the closet and hastily fill it with clothes and toiletries. As I do, I consider my very short list of options.
I have money. Well, a little. I could stay in a hotel one night. A very cheap hotel. Probably a motel if I’m being honest. And go in search of a second job and a miniscule apartment tomorrow. I can Uber or take the bus because I’m definitely not driving Mom’s Volvo.
No way.
Once I find a place — a pet-friendly (because I’m going to take Gemini. He’s mine after all), super-small, and affordable place — I can move out the rest of my stuff and slowly assemble the other things I’d need to outfit a home of my own. Dishes… towels…
Pretty much everything.
Maybe I can find someone who just needs a roommate. Someone who’d be willing to accept both me and Gemini.
I’m not going to lie. My spirits flag when I think about how hard this is going to be. And it will be hard.
But not impossible.
I can do this. And now that I know what needs to be done, I can’t stay here a minute longer.
Except, if I stay in a hotel — or even a motel — tonight, I would put a dent in my savings. And that’s the bulk of what I have for a security deposit. And a pet deposit. And first month’s rent.
I sigh.
This realization leaves me two options. I can either stay here and pace the floor until morning. Or I can reach out to a friend.
Drew.
