The Way You Make Me Feel(62)

It was probably the nicest room I would ever sleep in.

The bellhop left after my mom tipped him, and we were alone, finally. Unexpectedly, I felt shy. But my mom plopped onto my bed and pulled out her phone. “I’m gonna Story this, okay?” Pointing the phone at herself, her chin expertly tilted at a flattering angle as she lay down on the bed with her hair spread around her, she started speaking. “Guys. I had the BEST surprise of my life!” Then suddenly her face turned to its normal expression, and I knew the camera was pointed at me.

It’s not like I wasn’t used to this—my mom had been recording every minute of her life for the past few years—but I still felt ambushed. I pretty much knew what I looked like—a bedraggled mop with half my makeup rubbed off. My hands flew to cover my face instinctively.

M?e laughed and went back into selfie mode. “That’s my daughter, Clara, and she’s feeling uncharacteristically shy. Best surprise EVER!” The words echoed back as she watched the video a few times before uploading it. She sprang up from the bed. “So, I gotta get ready for this poolside party thing. Meet me out there in a few?”

“What poolside party thing?” I asked, already staring longingly at my bed.

Her hands fluttered dismissively. “Oh, it’s part of this whole tastemaker retreat.”

“Wait, what? What retreat?”

She made a face and laughed. “Clara. That’s what all of this is. I’m here as part of a retreat with other social media tastemakers.”

My heart thudded down into my feet. “Oh. I guess I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t I mention it?”

The fatigue from the travel hit me so hard then that I almost fell over. “Maybe you did? I don’t remember.”

“We’ll still have fun! I’ll just have to do a few events here and there.”

The idea of being trapped in a resort full of social media tastemakers made me want to scream, but I forced a smile. “Cool. Give me a sec and I’ll meet you out there.”

As soon as she left, I pulled out my phone, connected to the hotel’s Wi-Fi, and took a deep breath. I had avoided this long enough.

After a couple of rings, my dad answered. “Clara?”

Out of nowhere, a tidal wave of homesickness rushed over me, filling my lungs. I couldn’t breathe.

“Clara? Can you hear me?” he repeated.

I nodded, stupidly. Realizing he couldn’t see me, I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Hi.”

“HI?! IS THAT ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY RIGHT NOW?”

Something about his yelling calmed me down. I understood this; this was familiar.

“YOU WENT TO ANOTHER COUNTRY WITHOUT MY PERMISSION!”

Pause.

“HOW IS THAT LEGAL? WHAT HAS THIS COUNTRY COME TO? OH, BETTER NOT LET IN REFUGEES, BUT SURE, HEY, LET A MINOR FLY TO CENTRAL AMERICA!”

Pause.

“ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?!”

I cringed. “Yes, I’m listening.”

His breath came out in angry huffs. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Young lady.”

“What?!”

“You forgot to add ‘young lady.’”

Another pause.

“Clara, I swear to God, I’m going to—”

“Kill me?”

“You know. Maybe. Maybe I’d murder you. My own child.”

I started to laugh then, but then the laugh got weird and garbled and filled with tears. I managed to say, “I was so mad at you.”

Pai’s silence made me squirm. Finally, he responded, his voice tired. “I know. But, you have to wonder, was this reaction perhaps a tad disproportionate?”

“Nah. Seemed about right.”

He sighed. “Clara. This is insane. You’re in deep trouble when you get home, you realize this, right? Like, this is way worse than the fight with Rose. You’re going to have to work on the truck your entire senior year to make it up to me.”

The mosquito net got caught in my hair as I paced in my room, and I tried to pull it out with one hand. “I know. And I’ll pay you back for this ticket. And everything else. But, I just…” With a quick yank, my hair was released. I straightened out. “I needed to see M?e.”

“You needed to see M?e, or get away from us?”

He didn’t have to clarify who “us” was. Hamlet’s and Rose’s unread texts practically weighed my hand down. I didn’t answer, and when enough seconds had passed, my dad changed the subject. “Well, Shorty, how are you? How was the flight? How’s Tulum?” The last word dripped with a faux frou-frou accent.

I sat down on the bed, my back against the fluffy pillows. “The flight was fine. I watched three movies.”

“Whoa, which ones? Wait, let me guess. The new Marvel thing, the new Pixar thing, and a documentary about the financial crisis of 2007.”

“Are you psychic?!”

We both laughed, then an awkward silence settled between us. “So, how’s your mom?” he asked.

I stared at a large spider that was making its way across the wall next to the window. “She’s good!” Could he hear the effort it took for me to be chipper? “And this hotel is, as you would say, the bomb. My villa is on the beach.”