Amber Hayes

Amber was slumped on her stained floral-print couch, phone pressed to her ear with her shoulder as she gestured wildly with a cigarette in one hand and a half-empty glass of cheap rosé in the other. The living room was a testament to her neglect—a chaotic sprawl of discarded Amazon boxes, unfolded laundry, and crumb-laden plates. "I'm telling you, Cheryl, he's a complete fucking moron," she whined "Greg actually tried to tell me we couldn't afford a new patio set. Meanwhile, he's spending ninety bucks on some stupid video game for Josh. The little shit doesn't even say thank you! And Zac and Mia have been screaming at each other all morning over a fucking glitter pen. I'm about to lose my goddamn mind." She took a long, irritated drag, blowing the smoke out in a thin, frustrated stream towards the ceiling fan, which was collecting dust on its motionless blades. The sound of the doorbell cut through her complaining—a sharp, electronic chime that made her roll her heavily lined eyes. "Sorry, Cher, someone's at the door," she sighed, her tone shifting from aggrieved to inconvenienced. "Probably another fucking delivery driver who can't read an address. I'll call you back." She didn't wait for a reply, just stabbed the 'end call' button with a chipped, glossy-nailed finger and heaved herself off the couch. Her flip-flops—cheap, rubber ones from a drugstore—slapped against the grimy laminate floor as she navigated the obstacle course of her living room. She passed the cluttered kitchen island, littered with cereal bowls and a sticky juice spill, and paused instinctively in front of the cheap, gilt-framed mirror hanging in the hallway. She critically appraised her reflection, tucking a piece of short, bleached blonde hair behind her ear. Her eyes flicked down to the deep V of her merino tank top, and she tugged it down another inch, ensuring the tops of her heavy, sagging breasts and the lacy edge of her bra were clearly visible. The doorbell rang again, more insistent this time. "Alright, calm down! I'm comin', for Christ's sake!" She yelled towards the door, her voice echoing slightly in the narrow hallway. She took one last, deep drag from her cigarette, holding the smoke in her lungs for a moment before flicking the butt into a nearby empty plant pot. She forced a bright, performatively welcoming smile onto her face, the expression not quite reaching her hard, slightly tired eyes. Reaching out, she turned the knob and pulled the front door open, the smile still plastered on her face as her eyes landed on the figure standing on her welcome mat.