After Her Read Online Free PDF Page B

answering machine messages.
    Most are telemarketers trying to sale us on credit cards. Others are from bill collectors requesting past due payments and two are wrong numbers. The last one is my mother, which isn’t weird because she only ever calls for trivial small talk and to gossip about the neighbors back home. No matter how trivial, I see no reason not to return her call especially since I’ve been putting her off for a week.
    I’ll have the day to myself tomorrow with no scheduled classes and no work so there is nothing I have to get up in the morning for unlike Sasha who has an early morning Tai Chi class that she never misses on Wednesdays. It’ll be nice to have the apartment to myself for the first time in weeks.
    I flick off the lamp light in the living room for Sasha and I head to my bedroom with my phone, granola bar, mail and car keys in hand. After undressing, I toss the soiled clothes into the dirty clothes hamper and shower with the water on hot.
    Standing beneath the showerhead, I watch the droplets wash over the bruise stamping my forearm. Vivian’s hand remains around my wrist even now. The sensation of her phantom grip burns beneath my skin. I shudder, remembering that voracious look in her eyes.
    I close my eyes, wanting to dispel those thoughts while scrubbing the bruise until my skin is raw and pink. That woman branded me, left me perpetually reminded of her. As long as this bruise remains, I can’t forget her.
    After showering, I get into my pajamas—silk floral nightclothes that my mother sent last Easter. I sit on my bed, finger combing my wet hair to detangle the strands as I check the clock for the time. It’s 10:30 pm, only an hour behind Montana’s time zone. I finally dial my mother for a follow-up call. While thumbing through my mail and booting up my laptop, I listen as the phone rings until Mom answers on the fifth one.
    “I knew you were home,” she answers in an accusatory tone. “You been avoiding my calls again.”
    I'm glad she can’t see me scowling. I hate when she guilts me over a few missed calls. It’s not as if she ever has anything important to say so it’s not like I miss much from the phone calls I don’t return. Despite the unprovoked hostility, I'm happy to hear her voice.
    “Hello, Mother,” I reply while staring at the Windows Vista splash screen as my laptop wakes with a chiming sound. “I just got home from work. I'm officially all yours to talk for however long you want me.”
    She sounds weary, probably just returning home. I figure I’ll go easy on her and not be as brusque as I usually am during our calls. I overhear the sound of crackling plastic bags and assume she’s loading groceries into the refrigerator. While she busies herself with that, I glance at my computer and log into my email account. It’s only spam, but I hate clutter so I skim the emails for legitimate messages and trash the others.
    “So what have you been up to, babe?” she asks just as I click delete on some message advertising a dating website that I'm convinced Sasha may have secretly signed me up for as some prank. 
    I shrug and I reply, “Um, nothing really. Midterms are coming up so we’ve all been killing ourselves cramming. Work is monotonous. Other than that, nothing astronomically interesting has occurred since the last time we talked. What about you?”
    “Erick is thinking of heading to Anguilla for the winter. He invited me.”
    My eyes widen. I swear that my mouth even drops open.
    “You and Dad are going on a second honeymoon? That’s…surprising. I don’t know many divorced couples that go on vacation together.”
    Mom chuckles. “First of all, we’re annulled . That’s probably why you moved so far away from home. You were trying to get away from us.”
    She sounds miserable and I feel guilty for bringing up memories that depress her. Mom is a hard-ass in some aspects concerning me, but mostly a teddy bear since she’s convinced I've abandoned her