Chapter 3: A is for Average
The morning light was a liar. It poured through the kitchen window, fracturing into cheerful little rainbows on the linoleum floor through Patricia’s stained-glass suncatcher, a gift from last Christmas. The world outside was dewy and bright, but inside Mia, every movement was a stark reminder. Sitting on the wooden chair to pull on her socks had been an act of careful negotiation.The soft cotton of her robe felt like sandpaper against her skin.
Her mother stood at the stove, her back to the room, humming softly. The rich, earthy scent of coffee warred with the faint, ghostly spice of last night’s cinnamon candle. It was a tableau of perfect domestic calm.
“Morning, sweetheart,” Linda said without turning, her voice warm as the steam rising from the pan. “Sleep okay?”
Mia hesitated, her hand hovering over the back of a chair. The old oak table bore the faint scar of a deep scratch from a childhood craft project, a testament to ordinary mistakes.This felt different. “A little sore,” she admitted, the words barely audible.
Linda turned then, her kind eyes taking in Mia’s careful posture, the way she stood rather than risk the hard seat. A smile, tender and apologetic, touched her lips.“I know, baby. Come here a second.”
The command was gentle, but it held the same firm core as last night’s crack of the spoon. Mia’s stomach, already tight, twisted further.She obeyed, the floorboards cool under her bare feet. Linda settled herself on one of the sturdy kitchen chairs, the one whose legs never wobbled. She patted her thigh.“Just a quick reminder, Mia.Before the day gets away from us. A little reinforcement so you keep that anatomy book front and center today.”
Mia’s cheeks flushed with a heat that had nothing to do with the morning sun. This was the part she hated most—the daylight version, the matter-of-fact correction in the heart of their normal life. There was no cover of darkness, no muffling duvet.Just the sunny kitchen and her mother’s lap.
She stepped forward, the world narrowing to the stretch of floral-printed cotton covering her mother’s thighs.She leaned over, her body knowing the geometry better than her mind wanted to. Linda’s hands were efficient.She guided Mia over her knee, the position both deeply childish and profoundly intimate. The soft robe was gathered and then lifted, baring her to the cool, fragrant air.
The welts from the spoon were visible, Mia knew. A latticework of pink and dusky red against her skin.Linda sighed, a sound of sympathetic disappointment. Her hand, warm and soft, rested for a moment on the marked skin, a contrast that made Mia shiver.Then the hand lifted.
The first smack was not like the spoon. It was open-handed, softer, but it landed squarely on the most tender part of her sit-spots, where the bruises were darkest. A sharp, bright spark flared.“A,” Linda said, her voice calm and didactic.Smack.
“Is for Average.” The second spank overlapped the first, the pain layering.
Smack.
“B,” Linda continued, her rhythm steady and deliberate, “is for Below average.” Each word was punctuated by a crisp, resonant clap of skin on skin. Mia flinched, her fingers scrabbling for purchase on the chair leg. The sting was acute, a vivid re-awakening of every nerve she’d hoped had gone numb overnight.
Smack.Smack.
“C,” her mother recited, focusing now on the sensitive undercurve, “is for Can’t sit for a week.”
The final two spanks were harder, a pointed period at the end of the sentence. Mia let out a shaky gasp, her eyes squeezing shut against the rainbows on the floor.The pain was a warm, spreading reminder, exactly as intended. It wasn’t about fury; it was about focus. A pedagogical tool.
As quickly as it began, it was over.Linda’s hand returned to a gentle rub, smoothing over the heated skin. She carefully lowered Mia’s robe, letting the fabric fall back into place like a curtain closing. She guided Mia to her feet, her hands firm on Mia’s shoulders.
Mia stood, unsteady, the fresh throbbing syncing with the deeper ache from the night before. Her face was hot, her vision slightly blurred.
Linda stood and cupped Mia’s chin, her thumb brushing a tear Mia hadn’t felt escape. She leaned in and placed a soft, lingering kiss on Mia’s temple.The scent of her lavender hand cream was overwhelming.“All done. My good girl.Now, let’s get some breakfast into you. You need protein for studying.”
She turned back to the stove as if they’d just discussed the weather, flipping a pancake with a practised flick of her wrist.“Can you set the table, honey? Juice is in the fridge.”
Mia moved robotically. The familiar clatter of plates and cutlery was a script she could follow.The ceramic was cool in her hands. The orange juice carton hissed when she opened it.Each movement was a retreat into normalcy, a desperate anchor in the mundane.
As she placed a glass by her mother’s setting, her phone buzzed in her robe pocket. A single, discreet vibration.
She pulled it out under the pretense of wiping a splash of juice from the counter.A text from Eliza.No words. Just a single emoji of a red chili pepper.Mia’s lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t look toward the wall she shared with Eliza’s house.She simply tapped back a steaming cup of coffee emoji. The acknowledgment was enough.
“Everything okay, Mia?” Linda asked, sliding a perfect golden pancake onto a plate.“Yeah,” Mia said, her voice steady now, cleansed by the routine. “Just Eliza. Wondering if I wanted to study together later.”
“That’s a lovely idea,” Linda said, bringing the plate to the table. “You two can keep each other on track.Now, eat up. I have a shift at the library, but I’ll be back by dinner. We’ll go over those anatomy flashcards tonight, okay?”
“Okay, Mom.” Mia took her seat, the wood hard and unyielding against her tender skin. She didn’t wince. She just picked up her fork, cut into the soft pancake, and let the sweet, buttery taste fill her mouth, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of shame still lingering at the back of her throat. The suncatcher continued to throw its optimistic little rainbows across the floor, painting the scene in colors that felt, to Mia, like a particularly beautiful lie.