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Sixteen

Nina

“You’re going running…” My mother stares at my cotton shorts and bright purple tank top in disgust. It was a bit of a pain to braid my wig and make sure it was secure, but it worked. “Think of all the sweat, Nina.”

I’m fairly certain Abbott ran it past her since he said he would, but sometimes my mother has selective memory.

“Cassidy and her pack are coming to pick me up,” I say mildly, waiting for her to get it out of her system. She’s been full of plans and plotting, but I have to send the texts to people, which means I get to make decisions.

It feels surreal. My mother can complain or suggest, but she’s set this path for me to be courted. Funny enough, this group of packs aren’t so old fashioned that they think the same way as she does. They want me to experience life, and I’ve been speaking with a few of them throughout the week since we all had tea together.

“They’re already on the way?” she asks, sighing.

I have my bottle of water, tennis shoes already on, and let her baby blue eyes gaze at me to answer her own question.Only the outside of my fractured eye color reflects hers, yet another odd way that biology works. The doorbell rings, further forcing her to accept that I’m going for a run with a pack as they court me. It’s a casual thing, and it’ll help me continue to gain my strength. I did warn Cassidy that I may tire quickly, yet she told me not to worry about it.

She said they’d adjust to me. Another way that she constantly surprises me.

“I suppose they are,” my mother sighs. “Now I know why you’re not wearing any makeup and you look homeless so early in the morning.”

I ignore the comment as she moves away so I can answer the door. I think she realized that hovering over me isn’t going to help me get to know the packs courting me. It’s embarrassing that she’s prancing me around to the best pack, but she says this is the way things are done.

She forced me to endure lunch with her friends earlier this week as if to affirm her words. They talked all about how they were doing this as well with their daughters. There’s no use fighting against this, I know what happens when my mother doesn’t get her way.

I’d rather avoid that at all costs.

“Hi,” I say with a smile as I see Cassidy at the door. “Is there anything else I’ll need other than water?”

“With us? No,” she says, her green eyes moving up my body slowly. Her long hair is up in a sleek ponytail, and she’s dressed similarly to me. Her gaze is appreciative but also appears to be looking for something. “Do you have your phone? You’re going to want that just in case.”

“I swear, I forget it everywhere,” I mutter, biting my lip. My phone is pressed into my hand, and I glance at my mother who rolls her eyes at me. Oops. Guess I left it on a table and she found it. Putting it in my pocket, I zip it up, shrugging as my cheeks heat up.

“Now you’re ready,” Cassidy teases me. “We’ll take good care of her, Miss Vivian. Bye!”

She didn’t even see my mother, but it’s pretty obvious who I got my phone from I suppose.

“I’m sure you will,” my mother says, poking her head around the door. “Have fun.”

Taking this as my cue, I step out the door to stand next to Cassidy, and we begin walking together down the driveway.

“I did drive, but we told our running group to join us outside of the house,” she says as I glance at her pack stretching outside of their vehicle. “This neighborhood has great street parking, and everyone is still asleep so there’s no one to yell at us.”

Smiling, I gaze down the street where people are walking to join us. It’s probably around six people plus her pack, and I force myself not to worry about meeting extra people, though it’s hard. She told me they have a running club that meets at six in the morning three times a week.

My mother is always attending some club, and they enjoy going to breakfast, which is why she’s already awake before the sun.

The sky is still dark as I gaze up at it, and I can feel my body starting to relax. I didn’t realize how tense the atmosphere of the house was until I stepped out of it without my mother lurking around me.

“I was wondering if you’re always strung tightly or if it’s just your mother’s presence,” Cassidy says quietly as we walk to join the group stretching in the street.

Ignoring her words, I focus on what she said before. She’s right, no one will be driving this early. In fact, anyone who has early mornings has already begun them at home. The benefit of being rich and having their own schedules.

Ugh. Maybe if I ignore her observation long enough, it’ll just go away or I’ll find the right words to say. I can’t bring myself to talk about my mom and how complicated our relationship is. It’ll lead to too many things I can’t talk about.

At my glance, she reaches out and squeezes my hand. Unless someone is hurting me, I don’t get touched very often, and I force myself not to flinch. It’s something my mother was very insistent on training me out of. It doesn’t matter that this is her fault, a side effect from my “therapy.” The truth stands that she didn’t want anyone to think that I had been abused.

Flinching is a trained trauma response.

Pushing the memories away, I simply shrug at her. I also won’t speak badly about my mother, because it could get back to her very easily.