“I guess I thought you would forget about that since I’m paying you double?”
“No. Let’s go. I’m taking you to see her today.”
“I’m not coming, Joan. I’m not ready.”
“And why not?” she gave me an evil death stare.
I’m scared…
I sighed. “She hates me…Everyone hates me right now. I’m too depressed, too hurt. Can’t you see that? I need to stay at my hotel and work on myself for a few weeks and then—”
“Please shut up,” she pushed her chair to the table. “Do you really expect me to feel sorry for you? I don’t. Just because I’m your assistant that doesn’t mean I have to buy into your crap. If you’re not in my car in two minutes, I’ll be on the next flight out of here.”
My mother’s place hadn’t aged a bit. The three story wooden colonial boasted bright white paint, wide windows with cream shutters, and a wooden veranda that wrapped around the entire house.
The American flag hung high from the second level, lightly grazing the left side of the porch, and I could see my old tree house—my father’s last gift to me before he died, quietly sitting in the distance.
I stood in front of the house and contemplated turning around, running all the way back to my hotel, and telling Joan to kiss my ass.
I was sure I could find another assistant in no time, one that wouldn’t inflict her morals and rolling eyes on me, one that would do exactly what I said and not talk back to me. Then again, the top assistant agency in New York was run by the sister of Phillip Hartford’s wife.
I decided it would be easier to visit my tree house first. I climbed up the metal ladder and yanked the door open.
Everything was just as I left it: “I’m going to be a star one day” was in bright pink paint on the center wall, my high school drama awards were standing proudly against a re-purposed bookshelf, and every play program from my college theater days was suspended from a neon green clothesline that hung from the ceiling.
My impressive stack of hand-sewn quilts was neatly arranged into a large plastic bin, and the secret recipe to my award-winning cherry bourbon pie was still tucked underneath a loose floor panel.
I picked up the oversized picture that hung on my corkboard—a picture of Taylor, Jessica, and me at a Halloween party. We were all dressed as Disney characters: Taylor was Prince Aladdin, Jessica was Sleeping Beauty, and I was Cinderella. We were all smiling broadly, standing in front of a haunted corn maze. Taylor’s arms were wrapped around my waist and Jessica was pretending to pull at my hair.
I’m still not over it…
I pulled my emergency drawer open and took out a lighter. I held our picture over the garbage can and set it afire. I ripped all of our “friends forever” photos off the wall, tore them to pieces, and tossed the bits into the trash.
I took my time climbing down the ladder and wandered across the front yard. I approached the front door and smelled the familiar scent of my mom’s signature cookies: Red velvet fluffs with chocolate chips. Cinnamon swirls with macadamia nuts. Peanut butter pecans with caramel drops.
I noticed our family cat Tina eyeing me from the garden bench, moving her furry little head with every step I took. She wasn’t a tiny gray kitten anymore; she was a plump and husky cat.
“Tinaaa! You’ve gotten so big! Come here Tina,” I patted my thighs and clapped softly. “Come to Selenaaa!”
She jumped down from the bench and slowly sauntered over. Once she was two feet away, she hissed at me and ran away.
I sighed.
I was convinced my mother still kept her door open on Sundays, the “family dinner days,” so I didn’t ring the doorbell. I pushed the door open as slowly as possible and slipped inside.
Right in front of me, on the very first wall, were pictures of every magazine cover I’d ever posed for, every movie I’d ever starred in, and every image of me receiving an award—Emmy, SAG, People’s Choice—perfectly fitted into its own silver frame.
On a large board to my left were numerous newspaper and magazine articles—each one labeled by the publication’s name and date.
I ran my fingers across the pages and felt tears trickling down my face. I couldn’t believe my mother had kept up with everything I’d done. I thought she’d disowned me like I’d disowned her.
I heard bouts of laughter coming from the kitchen and wiped my face before heading in that direction.
You can do this…You can do this…Don’t cry…
I turned the corner and saw that my entire family—mother, aunts, uncles, and cousins—was invested in a loud game of Monopoly. They were harassing my mom about her banking skills and teasing my uncle about being sent “directly to jail.”
“Hello everyone,” I whispered.
They didn’t hear me. They didn’t even notice me.
They were now debating the illegal purchase of Vermont Avenue. They looked like they were having so much fun, like they didn’t have a care in the world.