Page 88 of You'll Love it Here

“Mona!” My mom doesn’t knock as she clicks open my door. She’s in a horrible leopard-print blouse and her perfume has a strong musky bite to it. “You’re still lying in bed? What is this type of loser life?” Her brow angles at me in disapproval. “You should come out with me.”

If I could have gone anywhere else, I would have. But I have no real friends anymore, nothing left that I can call my own. I had no choice but to return to the childhood I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to outrun.

And to deal with this lady as my roommate.

“I’m just a little tired,” I reply. Ever since I got here, I’ve been so exhausted. It’s like all my years of running on a treadmill have finally caught up with me.

“Well, you need to get more healthy in life.” She tuts. “Come with me and Aunty to get a burger.”

“That is... not what I expected you to say,” I mutter, rolling over to bury my cheek in the pillow. “But I’m good. I’ll have some Cup Noodles when it feels right.”

She claps her hands together so hard, it’s probably fairer to call it a slap. “No, Mona! You need to go outside. Come on, do your hair up and get up now.”

I inhale long and hard, the dust from the BowFlex mixing with her perfume. “Mom, I just want to relax my last few days before work. Besides, I have nothing to wear.”

When I first got here, I ventured to Supershops for a package of underwear, some sweats, and toiletries, but mostly I’ve been borrowing my mom’s clothes. And if I didn’t want to leave the house already, the thought of someone seeing me in my mom’s neon sweaters and bedazzled jeans is enough to keep me tied to the bed.

“What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”

“If you’re asking, I’m not sure how to answer.” Currently I’m sporting her red leggings that feature rhinestones up the sides. “I really would rather stay in. I have to go back to work next week, and that’s going to be a lot.”

The truth is, I’m not sure how in only four days I’m going to walk back into my office and do my job again. Part of it is my former friends—I’m going to be siloed from the office culture, constantly having to watch my back from now on. But also, it’s the job itself. Going back to doing something that’s sometimes hard to rationalize; I have to convince myself I care deeply about a product, no matter what it is, so I can convince others to care about it too.

And I can’t bring myself to care aboutanythinganymore. All these years trying to get promoted feel like I was chasing a carrot on a stick. I didn’t really care about the work itself, so what was it I wanted? To be successful, admired, for people like Olivia to tell me I’m worthy? I don’t need witnesses to validate my life anymore.

My mom stares at me, contemplating my pitiful pose curled up on the mattress. “Okay, then. That was a long vacation, after all.”

Right, I never even told my mom the technical truth. She tilts her head, assessing. “You will probably be very busy when you get back.”

I’m so tired of holding up this façade.

Just as she turns toward the door, and before I realize what I’m doing, I call back, “Mom, I need to tell you something.”

She halts mid-step and twists to face me. “Yes?”

I take a deep breath, briefly closing my eyes. “This wasn’t really a vacation.”

Curiosity twists her brow. “What was it then?”

“It was sort of a... disciplinary leave.”

“Discipline?” Her forehead creases. “What did you do for such a thing?”

I’d always imagined that telling my mom I’d failed would be the worst feeling ever, but instead I’m strangely hollow. “I was rudeto a big client. He said something that reminded me of... Dad, and I just...” I inhale as she drags her eyes slowly up to lock with mine. “Mom, when Dad died, I tried to shut that chapter away. But I’ve really been struggling with it.” The words feel sluggish as they make their way out, even as my heart begins to pick up speed.

I had to keep my pain from her because I knew she couldn’t carry it—not when she was drowning in her own grief. The few times I tried, she always found a way to sidestep it. But now, I’ve left her no room to look away. And as I wait for her response, I realize I’m barely breathing.

Her eyes drop to the floor. She doesn’t say a word.

Disappointment tears through me, but I force myself to press on.

“Growing up with him, with his disease, I just never felt like I was... like things were stable or that I could relax.” She’s gone completely still. “That’s why I got out as soon as I could.”

She nods slowly, but still doesn’t speak.

“I worked and I struggled, and I was so determined to have a different life.”

She suddenly blinks, as if coming out of a spell. Her eyes go wide. Finally, she whispers, “We were so proud of you. Everything you did we couldn’t believe.”