Worse. I think I'd rather be reliving my morning, than talking to my mom.
“Do you want me to wait out in the living room?” he offered. She grabbed his arm.
“God, no. Hold my hand. Just … keep quiet,” she instructed, then she picked up the phone. She pushed the answer button, but wasn't even given a chance to say a greeting.
“What in the hell have you done, young lady!?” her mother was screeching. Misch moved to sit in the middle of the bed.
“Did he call you?” she asked. Tal crawled across the mattress and stretched out behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist.
“No! Belinda called me! The woman was hysterical! She thinks her son is going to kill himself!”
That's a bit much.
“Mom, don't say that.”
“Are you saying he wasn't upset!?”
“Oh, he was upset.”
“As any husband would be! Cheated on him! How could you do that!? How could you do that!? I thought we raised you better than that!” her mother's voice was reaching epic levels.
“You did, Mom. I don't know … I just … wasn't happy,” Misch's voice fell into a whisper.
“Well, then you work it out! You get help! You talk to people! You don't go to another country and act like a common prostitute!”
“Mother!”
“I'm sorry, but that's what you acted like! I am so disappointed in you, Mischa!”
“I'm disappointed in me, too. I feel awful.”
“As you should!”
“I know.”
“Disgusting. I never thought I could be disgusted by my own daughter.”
“I know. I am, too.”
It just went on from there. Her mother didn't ask to hear her side, didn't question what had happened between her and Mike, or what was happening between her and Tal, or rather the “filthy homewrecker”, as he was dubbed by Mrs. Duggard. By the time her mom hung up on her, Misch felt numb, just nodding and agreeing with everything.
“That sounded rough,” Tal said, rubbing his hand across her thigh.
“You have no idea. Have you ever been cursed at in Mandarin? Sucks,” she grumbled. She had just sat the phone down when it rang again.
“You don't have to answer it,” he pointed out. She shook her head.
“No. I deserve this. I should just get it out of the way,” she replied.
“It's not like lashings, Misch. Give yourself a break.”
“I don't deserve one.”
The name Lacey was scrolling across the screen, and when Mischa said hello, she was hopeful that it would go a little better than her mom's call.
“Is it true!? Tell me it's not true,” her friend was actually crying.
God, did Mike do a conference call!?
“Yeah, yeah it's true, Lace,” Misch's voice was stuck somewhere deep in her throat, and it came out thick and watery.
“Why? Why would you do that to him? What did he ever do to you?” Lacey sobbed.
“Nothing. He didn't do anything. I'm just … a bad person, Lace, who made some bad mistakes,” Misch offered. Tal's hand gripped her thigh.
“We are not a mistake,” he whispered. “You're not a bad person.”
No, you're right. I'm the worst person.
“Mistake!? You cheated on your husband! With some … stranger! Ew! You always said you hated cheaters!” Lacey reminded her.
“I know. I know what I said. Things happen, things change. I never knew I could feel this way, and I couldn't tell you how I was feeling cause I hated myself, and god, Lacey, I'm just so sorry,” Mischa sniffled, wiping at tears again. There was a long pause, and then her friend sighed.
“Bob doesn't want me seeing you anymore,” Lacey's voice was almost a whisper.
“Well, how do you feel?” Misch demanded, a little shocked.
“He's my husband, Misch. I'm not like you, I can't just do whatever I want,” Lacey replied.
Ouch.
“He can't tell you who you can and can't be friends with, Lacey. If you don't want to be my friend because of what I did, then fine, that's your choice. But don't do it just cause your husband hates me,” Misch snapped. There was an even longer pause.
“Was it worth it?” Lacey really was whispering that time. Misch glanced at Tal.
“I don't know. It's pretty awful right now. Way worse than I thought it would be, and I had already guessed it would be hell,” she started, staring straight into his eyes. “But I think … I think maybe yeah, it was.”
“God, you should've talked to me, Mischa. I could've helped you end things with him. I could've helped. You're my best friend. Why couldn't you talk to me?” Lacey was crying again.
“I don't know. I hated me. I didn't want you to hate me, too,” Misch tried to explain. There was some noise, then a man's voice was talking in the background.
“I have to go,” Lacey's voice was cold.
“Can I call you later? Like on your lunch break?” Misch asked, and she could hear the desperation in her own voice.
“No. No, I just can't be your best friend right now. Not after what you did. I'm sorry, Misch. I really am.”
Then the line was dead.
Mischa dropped the phone and put her head in her hands. The cell started ringing again, and another friend's name scrolled across the screen. It went to voicemail. Then a text came. Then another. More. Tons. All the same.