“You know what’s the most unrealistic thing about this?” I ask aloud to Figaro, who’s now sitting on the back of the couch, grooming himself like he always does after he eats breakfast. “How good everyone looks when they first wake up.”
I break a cracker in half, not caring about the crumbs that will inevitably bother me later.
“I know, this show is about vampires. But trust me, I’m more likely to meet a sexy vamp than look that good after I’ve cried myself to sleep.” I motion to my face. “Case in point.”
I let out a heavy sigh and nibble on crackers, telling myself I’m never drinking that much ever again. My phone, which I left on the coffee table last night, chimes with a text. I can see Mom’s name, and I’m sure she’s reminding me something about tomorrow night’s dinner.
I was looking forward to it. I haven’t seen Sam or Mason in forever, and now that Lennon is teaching full-time and working as the unofficial assistant principal at the high school in Detroit, we hardly have time to see each other either.
They’re going to ask me how I’m doing, you know, the obligatory polite question to ask someone when you haven’t seen them in a while. But unlike most people, my family cares.
Especially my brothers.
Tossing my head back, I sigh again, this time even more dramatically than before, and tell that voice of reason to shut the hell up.
I get emotional when I’m tired.
I get dramatic when I’m upset.
“Dra-motional” as Mason put it years ago. I need to get my ass up, shower, and start looking for jobs. It’s slim pickings here in Silver Ridge, but I can’t just sit here and wallow for the rest of my life.
Though watching Damon and Stefan fighting on TV for the next few hours doesn’t seem too bad either.
“What?” I groan when my phone chimes again with another text from Mom. A message from Sam pops up next, then a bunch from Mason, and I grab the phone to read through the group text.
Mom: I can’t wait to see all my boys tonight!
Mom: And you, Rory, of course.
Sam: Nice save, Mom. We all know I’m your favorite though.
Mason: Mom had to have two more boys after you to get to the favorite. Obviously it’s me.
Mom: Stop it! You know my favorite child changes daily, and Jacob did just bring me lunch…
Sam: pathetic mama’s boy
Jacob sends a GIF of someone rolling their eyes and I smile, feeling a little tug on my heart, but dreading having to tell everyone that my life imploded within a matter of three hours yesterday.
Sam: My last surgery got rescheduled because the patient stopped at McDonalds on the way in for surgery, so I’ll be leaving soon.
Mom: Yay!!!! Will you make it in time for Friday night dinner? I can make chicken pot pie.
Sam: Just for me?! Who’s the favorite now? And yes, assuming I don’t die in a fiery car crash on the way up north, I should be there around four.
Mom: That’s not funny, Samuel James Harris.
Mason: …so you like me more now, right?
Mom: You boys are exhausting. Drive safe, Sam. Everyone come for dinner if you can. And Mason, aren’t you driving right now? STOP TEXTING!!!
Since I didn’t charge my phone last night, the screen goes black and I drop it to the couch, grabbing another cracker.
“One more minute and I’m getting up,” I tell Figaro. But when that minute goes by, I don’t get up. And that little asshole does nothing to hold me accountable.
After this episode I’ll get up.
And then when it ends, I still make no move. My eyes start to feel heavy, and I set the box of crackers on the coffee table and lie down, picking the blanket up off the floor. I snuggle up on the couch, wanting to bury myself and get up when things magically sort themselves out.
I have to get up and use the bathroom again, though, and when I throw the blankets back, nothing has changed. It’ll be okay in the end…somehow it has to be.
I’m not going to end up homeless on the street. I have time before I need to leave here, and I have money in savings that will tide me over until I can get another job. Once I’ve showered and cleared my head, I’ll fire up a good old-fashioned job search.
On the internet, that is.
“Would it be too much to swaddle you in my baby blanket and bring you to dinner tonight?” I ask Figaro, who’s sunbathing on the living room floor. “Might as well accept my fate as childless, crazy cat lady now.” He stretches and rolls over, which I take as a yes. “Just remember, you agreed to it.”
I grab my phone and take it into my room, plugging it into the charger. Then I pull a pair of black leggings and an oversized grey sweater from my closet and toss them on the bed, preparing my outfit for the day. I’m still dragging as I cross through the apartment and into the bathroom. Brushing my teeth, showering, and then drying my hair perks me up a bit, and I make myself a bowl of yogurt topped with blueberries and granola after that.