Crush Control (35 page)

Mia smiled at me. We walked up to her bed and stood awkwardly, forming a semicircle. My hand was hot and sweaty, still clutching Mom's hand.

“Hey,” Mia said casually. At first I was shocked at how calm she seemed. How relaxed. But then I saw something in her expression and I understood. She was off the hook. Lying in a hospital bed with a cast and a sling meant she wouldn't have to perform some perfect Mia move
. But what about me?

She nodded slightly at me as if she could hear my thoughts. “I wanted to have Willow here in this room when I tell you guys something,” Mia said, looking back and forth between her parents and Coach Graham. “I'm pretty sure you've heard some rumors about me and Willow and hypnosis. I can tell by the look on your face, Mom.”

Mrs. Palmer shifted, tried to change her expression from anger to just concern.

“It's true,” Mia continued, and Mrs. Palmer gasped slightly. “Well, partly true. I did ask Willow to use hypnosis to help me do more advanced moves for the competition.”

Mom didn't move a muscle. Didn't sigh or slump, but I could feel the energy around us change. There was tension—a force field of anxiety swelling from her pores.

“But Willow said no,” Mia said.

Mrs. Palmer's brow furrowed. “Huh?” she asked.

“She said no,” Mia repeated. “Many times. She said she didn't feel comfortable doing it. She said the flips looked too dangerous. She said I was getting too reckless.” Mia's face contorted as she tried not to cry. “She was such a good friend—concerned for me. But I pushed her. I was emphatic. I forced her to do it because I thought it was the only way I could deliver what people expected from me—a big show. And now everyone is saying Willow did something wrong, but it was me. I was the bad friend.” Her emotions won out and tears spilled down her flushed cheeks. “It's just so hard,” she whispered. “Everybody looks at our family and thinks we're perfect. Dad's a successful doctor. Mom's so pretty and peppy. We live in a nice house with nice things and everybody just assumes life at the Palmer house is perfect. They expect
me
to be perfect—to get straight A's, to date the hot quarterback, to be the cheerleader that wins the competitions.”

The room was stone silent—just the soft whirl of air rushing from the vent above Mia's bed and the drone of a laundry detergent commercial on the small TV propped in the corner of the room.

Coach Graham leaned over the bed rail, placed her hand gently on Mia's thick white cast. “Nobody's perfect, sweetie.”

Mia's eyes filled again and the look on her face was crushingly transparent. She was waiting for her parents to agree.

Mom tightened her grip on my hand. I could feel that force field of energy swell again. I looked at her and saw thirty-three years of smothering expectation swirl in her eyes. I could anticipate the showdown. It would be so much easier to say the pent-up words to these people she hardly knew than to her own parents.

I squeezed her hand tighter. “Nobody is perfect,” I whispered. I leaned over and gave Mia a hug.

“Thanks for the white roses,” Mia said with a smile. “You remembered.”

“Thank you,” I said, “for explaining things.”

She nodded.

I took Mom's hand and we exited quietly out of the room. When we walked through the lobby, everyone's conversation came screeching to a halt. The harsh beams of light from the fluorescent bulbs above hurt my eyes. I looked down toward the tiled floor.

Quinton raced over toward me and tried to hug me. I remained limp with my arms at my sides. “Quinton,” I said, sounding a little desperate. “Thank you but I just need to go home.”

He released me obediently. “Of course. I'll call you. Everything's okay,” he reassured me.

Mom took my hand again and we walked toward the exit. Just as the sliding glass doors opened I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned and saw Max. My eyes welled and my lip trembled. I couldn't face him. Not like this. Not after he had warned me about using hypnosis. Not after I had refused to listen. Not when my entire world was crashing in on me.

Without saying a word, he pulled his hand away. He gave me the saddest smile I'd ever seen. Then he turned and walked away.

When Mom and I got home I slumped onto the couch feeling depressed, like everything I wanted I had managed to destroy. Max. Grandma and Grandpa. I thought back to our first day here when Max and I were on the porch. There was a moment between us, I was sure of it. If only I had grabbed that opportunity and said how I felt, maybe everything could have turned out differently.

But maybe with Grandma there was still an opportunity to say what I really needed to say. I picked up the phone and dialed the numbers before I could change my mind. She answered on the first ring.

“Grandma,” I said a little breathlessly. “I want you to come here—to our house—for dinner tonight.”

Mom craned her neck from the kitchen and gave me an inquisitive look.

“Oh,” Grandma replied. “Now? I could just pick you up and we could go to the steak house in town?”

“No,” I answered. “I want you to come here.” I felt a small burst of satisfaction.

Mom walked over. She had a small smile on her face. “Tell her to bring Grandpa.”

I raised my eyebrows. She nodded. “I'd like you to bring Grandpa,” I said into the phone. “If he's up to it.”

Grandma agreed, sounding a little taken aback.

We hung up and I walked into the kitchen. “Where's the phonebook ?” I asked. “I'm ordering Chinese food.”

One hour later our doorbell rang. I thought Mom would be nervous but she wasn't. Instead she shuffled around, opening up the cartons of Chinese food with an intrigued look on her face. I opened the front door. Grandma was stiff backed and tentative, tightly clutching the crook of Grandpa's elbow.

“Grandpa!” I exclaimed, excited to see him up and walking. “You look fantastic!”

“I feel fantastic!” he bellowed.

I led them through the foyer and gestured for them to sit at the table.

“What's that smell?” Grandma asked as she helped Grandpa set his cane down.

“Hunan beef,” I answered.

Grandma's eyes widened slightly.

“And sesame shrimp,” Mom added, emerging from the kitchen with white cartons of food. She placed them down on the table with four glasses water.

I passed out napkins and utensils. For a moment Grandma

and Grandpa were motionless so I propped open the cartons, stuck spoons inside and said, “Dig in!”

Mom reached over and started dishing out the food.

“Look,” I said before I lost my nerve. “I asked you here tonight because I wanted you to see me.” I looked over at Mom. “I wanted you to see us—in our world. We don't eat on fine china. We don't have a lot of home-cooked meals. We didn't use an interior designer.”

“You barely have furniture,” Grandma said, looking around.

“But it's fine,” I said. “It's not perfect, but this is us.” My eyes started to feel glassy and the back of my throat burned. “We are not perfect. Mom's made some mistakes and I've made mistakes.”

“Willow,” Grandma tried to interrupt.

“No, let me finish.” Through teary eyes I told them about using hypnosis on Mia. “I'm sorry if I've disappointed you. I'm sorry if you think I'm a terrible person, but I'm still the same girl who planted tulips with you last month. I'm still the same one who wants to go see
The Nutcracker
with you. I'm still the same girl who just wants my family to be whole again.”

Grandma's lip trembled. “I want us to be a whole family, too.”

“Well then you have to accept us the way we are,” I said. “Mistakes and all.”

“Of course I do,” she said.

“No, you haven't.” I started to cry. “Mom's tried really hard to change her life but you won't give her a chance. You didn't even ask about her new job; you just called it nonsense. That's not fair.”

Mom reached over and put her hand on top of mine.

Grandma's forehead furrowed. She looked from me to Mom. “I'm sorry, it's just such a foreign thing for me and hard to understand.”

Mom looked across the table at Grandpa. “Tell her, Dad.”

“What?” I asked, confused.

Grandpa looked at Grandma. “Vicki's been coming over every week when you're at your Junior League meetings. She's been doing hypnosis on me to help me with my pain.”

“What?” I asked breathlessly, thinking how I'd counted on Mom's late nights to allow Georgia and me to do our crazy potions and spells. I'd never stopped to question what she was doing.

“What are you talking about?” Grandma asked, swiveling her head back and forth between them.

“Vicki's helped me so now I can move my right side without the shooting pain. Not only can I walk, but Vicki has helped me with another important life skill. Now I can flip the channels on my remote.” He laughed heartily, the sound ricocheting off the walls.

The sound of his laughter rang in my ears, resurrecting old memories from my childhood—of us playing checkers on the porch, him teaching me to bait a hook.

“But that's a result of your physical therapy,” Grandma insisted, clenching her pearl necklace.

“Earlier in the summer I quit therapy,” Grandpa grumbled.

“What?” Grandma exclaimed, throwing her hand to her chest.

“It just hurt too damn much,” Grandpa said, grimacing at the memory. “Vicki suggested I give her pain control a try and I thought,
What have I got to lose?
After a few sessions of hypnosis, when the pain was less, I went back to physical therapy to help with mobility. This time I actually made some progress.” He smiled over at Mom. And she smiled back at him with appreciation for his honesty. His acceptance.

“So all this improvement you've made?” Grandma's face scrunched up in disbelief.

Grandpa nodded. “Vicki's doing.”

“But . . . but,” Grandma finally said, flustered and confused.

“Yes, Mom, hypnosis can be used to help people,” Mom said softly.

“Vicki's been taking online courses and she got a big fancy certificate and a pay raise,” Grandpa said with pride. “And she's started an online business selling instructional hypnosis videos to help people stop smoking, lose weight and lots of other things.”

“Well,” Grandma said. “Well.” She leaned her elbows on the table as if all this new information knocked the wind out of her.

I was overwhelmed too. I looked over at my mom and for the first time I didn't just see her purple heels or her short black skirt. When I looked in her eyes I didn't just see her enticing beauty. I saw something different. I think what I saw was contentment. Pride. Accomplishment.

“I came back to Georgia with the idea that I had to prove something to you,” Mom said to Grandma. She tucked her long hair behind her ears. “But after our fight”—she bit her lip slightly—“I realized I have no control over how you think or what you feel. Only you can change your mind.”

“Victoria . . .” Grandma said, but Mom interrupted her.

“But I realized I needed to prove something to myself. I needed to prove that what I was doing with my life was valued. Respectable. Meaningful.” She turned toward me. “And I wanted to take better care of us.”

“You take great care of me,” I said. And I meant it. For the first time I realized that while all this time I wanted to have the perfect family, what Mom and I had was already pretty perfect. We took care of each other.

I leaned over and hugged Mom. Then I realized that while I was hiding my secrets of deception, her secrets were about making a better life for us. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I'm so proud of you,” I said softly.