Kandi Katastrophe's Arc

Chapter 4 of 4

The appointment card sat in Kandi's pocket for three days. It needed her mom's signature. That meant her mom needed the truth. Kandi practiced the words in her glittery bedroom, surrounded by Hello Kitty plushies and piles of laundry. She would stay calm. She would keep it small. She would not cry. She found her mother folding blouses at the kitchen table. Helena still wore her work blazer, gold earrings catching the light. She glanced at Kandi's neon hair and pink skirt, then looked back at the blouses. That look. The tired one Kandi had memorized. "I need you to sign something," Kandi said. She slid the card across the table. "It's for a doctor. A therapist." Helena read it once. She set it down like it was nothing. "You don't need this. You need to sleep more. Focus on school." "Mom, it's not about school." "Everyone is sad sometimes." Helena picked up another blouse. "I was sad. I worked. It passed." "It's not passing." Kandi's voice climbed. "I've been hiding it. For years." "Hiding what?" Helena's mouth tightened. "You dress like a child. People stare. Now you want a doctor to fix a mood?" Something cracked in Kandi's chest. The calm plan collapsed. "You don't see me," she said. Tears came fast and hot. "You never see me. I smile so you won't worry, and it's killing me." Helena stared, blouse frozen in her hands. "Kandi." "Please sign it. Please." Kandi was begging now, hands shaking. "I can't do this by myself anymore." Her mother opened her mouth to argue again. And Kandi did the thing she swore she never would. She grabbed her pink wig and pulled it off. Underneath, bald patches spread across her scalp. Thin spots where she had pulled her own hair out, strand by strand, for years. The wig dropped onto the laundry pile. Helena went silent. The blouse slipped from her fingers. "I do this," Kandi whispered. "When it gets bad. I can't stop. This is what's under the glitter, Mom. This is the real me." Helena stood slowly. She reached out, then stopped, her hand hovering near Kandi's head. Her stern face broke. "How long," she said. Not a question. A crack. "Since middle school." Helena sat back down hard. She was quiet a long time. When she spoke, her voice was small and fast, the way she got when things cost her. "My mother told me sadness was weakness. I believed her." She looked at the card. "I don't want you to believe me." She picked up a pen. Her hand trembled. She signed her name. "You'll go," Helena said. "I'll drive you." Kandi cried harder, but different now. Helena pulled her close, careful, one hand resting soft against the bare patches she had never seen. The secret was out. Her mother knew everything. And nothing between them would ever be hidden the same way again.