Chapter Eight - Every Once in a While

"Mom, I'm home." it felt so weird coming out of my mouth. In a plastic Forever21 bag Heather had given me, my soaking wet clothes were in it. I headed to the dryer (I had given myself an extensive house tour the other day I don't have to ask my mom "Where is the bathroom?" all the time) and put my clothes in the drying machine.

"You're finally back!" Lana called. "I'm in the kitchen making homemade pizza. Would like to help?"

I was about to say "No," and head upstairs to my "room" so I could brood about my new life some more, but then I realized if I ever did get my life back, I would never get to see my mother in an apron or making pizza ever. So instead I said, "Sure!" and went into the kitchen.

There was Lady Lana, her brown roots showing through her dyed blonde hair at the top of her head, flour stuck to her face all over and an apron with little white daisies painted all over.

It was such an adorable sight. I really wish I had a camera. First the Heather scene, now this? It was too much. I was suddenly really happy.

She held out a bag of frozen shredded Parmesan cheese out to me. "Sprinkle this all over." she smiled. "Evenly."

"Parmesan?" I asked. "Is pizza supposed to have Parmesaan cheese only?"

She shrugged. "I don't think so, but this recipe I got from online says it does so it might be a different type of pizza. Either way, we're making it!" she squealed the last part.

I smiled and stuck my hand into the bag if shredded cheese and I watched as Lana— no, I mean my mom, used a butter knife to spread the thick red sauce all over the flat circular dough.

"Time for the cheese!" she said when she has evened out all the sauce.

I began sprinkling the cheese as my mom shaped the crust on the edges, rattling on about how the man at the grocery store was telling her about his daughter in the mental hospital and how he missed her. "It's so sad," she said, looking at me with her big brown eyes. I had green eyes. I wondered if my father— Danny's dad— had green eyes like me. Probably. Mom continued, "It's sad because I have you as a daughter and if I ever lost you like that... I don't know how I would survive. Even if you were only in a mental hospital and not dead...I would be grateful that you are alive, but I would miss you so, so much."

Woah.

"I'd miss you too." I said and found myself tearing up, remembering how I'd felt when she had left me for L.A (in my real life, of course. Not this fake one.)

She hugged me, getting Heather's Abercrombie & Fitch all saucy and floury.

"Ooh those aren't your clothes are they?" she tapped her chin.

"They're Heather's."

"Sorry! Go out them in the wash immediately. I would feel terrible if we wrecked her clothes. She is such a sweet girl."

Yeah, I thought as I watched my mom slide the pizza tray into the oven, Heather's as sweet as a kitten."

Until the kitten pulled out her claws and sliced your face off, ahem. (No offense to Dorito! I still love him very much!)

I turned around and clomped up the steps to change out of Heather's clothes. Today had been a very unsuccessful day with Marissa and Casey. But I had progressed with Lana— er, my mom— and with Heather (a little), right?

Right?

Tomorrow I'm focusing on Marissa. Because if Heather can manage to find a (teeny, tiny, itsy bitsy) heart under all her piled of "Popularity", vanity, shallowness and jerk-ness (I think it's immature to swear, so I'm not going to use the same word Heather used for herself for "jerk". Just saying), then Marissa HAD to be able to come through. She had to.

If she didn't then she'd be stuck like this, and I would never let myself live if I knew that I had let her become like his.