The Collaboration

THE COLLABORATION LULU LUCILLE Copyright © 2023 by Lulu Lucille All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Cover designed by OkayCreations. CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 1 No matter how long I stared at the calendar, it didn’t seem real. Circled in bright ruby-red marker, the end of the month was finally here. I stumbled over the excess thread that littered the floor behind me. A sigh escaped me as I surveyed the scene. In the center of my room, a mannequin with a half-finished blue dress tempted me. It tempted me most days—most nights, even. When I was home from school, I spent all my time with her. Well, the mannequin didn’t really have a head or any defining features, but I liked to imagine it was a woman named Lucy. That was what I called her, anyway. The unfinished dress, a summer project that was supposed to have been done by now, taunted me. The bright-blue dress had short frills near the elbows. The design was brilliant, and I doubted any fashion house would be interested, but it was progress. And that was what I needed. Beside the mannequin, near the bed, sat a lone black suitcase. Its fabric had a few rips and tears, not that I minded. My backpack was stuffed—with deodorant, notebooks, and any other random stuff I’d thought of. A knock distracted me. I peeked as the door opened, and my mother entered halfway. Her eyes narrowed. She was pissed. I was screwed. Yikes. “Evelyn… really?” My mother had bright-brown hair and green eyes. I was a carbon copy. We each had short hairstyles, cut near our ears. Yet small glasses hid her eyes. I shrugged and signed, “What?” “Evelyn, use your voice. Your father and I aren’t paying for therapy for you to be quiet.” I opened my lips. Nothing came out. Shit barely ever came out. “W-Wh… What?” I shut my eyes. A groan escaped me. “Ha… Happy n… now?” “You’re packed?” my mother asked. I pointed at the zipped suitcase. A smile sprang onto my lips. I retreated several steps and plucked it from the ground. Then I snatched my backpack, lifted it onto my shoulders, and joined her by the door. “Where do you think you’re going?” “Do… Down… stairs,” I said. “Your room is a mess…” “I’ll cl… clean it la… later. You’re n-not se… serr… serious, right?” I asked. “Clean it.” My mother shut her eyes. “How old are you? Twenty. And your room is still a mess.” “B-But it’s al-always me… mes… messy.” I looked back. “It’s ju… just going to be di-dirrty when I g-get ba-ba… back. Be-Besides, I’m go… go… going to miss my fli… flight.” “Fine.” My mother went into the hallway. “But you’re cleaning it when you come back. The program is four weeks, right?” Halfway down our white-carpeted stairs, my mother glanced back. “You going to bring back a girlfriend?” She smiled. Hell, at this point, she wanted one more than me. “You’re twenty now, Evelyn… and I’m waiting. You need to bring someone home so I can embarrass you.” I glared at her. “What? I’ve been reading up. Did you know they just opened a new bar in Tampa? We’re like thirty minutes away… not that I googled it.” My mother made a pit stop in the kitchen. “I know you’re not old enough. But in a year, maybe you go there…” I groaned. “Maybe I’ll go, pass your photo out to some pretty girls there.” “I w… will ki-ki… kill you.” “Seriously, after this internship, you’re getting a girlfriend.” My mother grabbed a set of car keys from the counter and passed me into the hallway. “Don’t say those things. I’m your mother. And I remember what I told you when you told me?” I rolled my eyes. “Please st… stop,” I said. “What? I’m a supportive mother. I told you to just bring someone home. Someone, Evelyn. Two years away at college in New York, and I’m left with nothing.” She grabbed hold of the garage door and glanced back at me. “When I was your age…” I jammed my fingers into my ears. There was no way in hell I was listening to this again. She’d made this speech four times already this month—“go get a girlfriend, go meet a nice girl, bring me home another daughter.” Every. Single. Week. Summer break was torture. No one needed to endure this bullshit. I mean, news flash to my mother—I couldn’t talk to girls. And of the percent of them who knew how to sign, who knew how many lived near us? With my luck, I would meet some girl from Hawaii or something. An ocean away didn’t do me any good. I hopped into the back seat of my mother’s Honda SUV. I hoped if I sat back there, she would be less inclined to communicate. Though the logic was sound, that didn’t work. She fiddled with her rearview mirror and eyed me. “All set?” she asked. “All s… set,” I said. “Did you tell the program about your impairment?” I rested my head against the rear headrest. My fingers moved as I communicated. “N… No, I didn’t te… te… tell th… them.” “Good, it’s no one’s business. And you’ll be talking in no time.” No time. She said no time, as if some miracle cure was right around the corner, awaiting FDA approval. Ever since I was a child, talking had been hard. I’d been diagnosed with speech apraxia. My brain knew the words, but