I was obviously the center of my parents’ world. Oh the fun of being an only child. I was the entire focus of their pride. And more often than not, their disappointment.
My parents were good-looking people. My dad was tall and rugged. Mom was beautiful and refined. And I was the cherry on top of the perfect genetic cake. A lovely combination of my mother’s blonde hair and my dad’s blue eyes.
They loved me. I knew they did. But their love came with a price. Absolute and total obedience. It was expected and required if I wanted to exist in harmony with them.
“There you are! I didn’t even hear you come in,” my mother said? breezing in from the kitchen wearing a lacy apron straight out of a Leave it to Beaver episode.
“I just got here,” I replied, air kissing her cheeks so as to not smudge her make-up.
“You father just called and there’s a pile up on 64, so he’ll be another thirty minutes.” She pulled back the curtains and looked outside at the falling snow. “It looks treacherous out there. You should plan to spend the night in your new room.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. Because in my mom’s mind there was no room for argument.
“I can’t, Mom. I’m supposed to go to Vivian and Cole’s new apartment after dinner.”
Mom waved away my comment. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Then she frowned as she registered what I said. “Vivian has a new apartment? When did this happen?”
Crap. Way to step in it, Gracie! “She’s not moving for a few weeks,” I explained.
Mom smiled triumphantly and I knew what was coming. I braced myself for it.
“Well, that makes your decision to move back home much easier. If Vivian’s moving out, there’s no reason for you to stay in that cramped shoe box you call an apartment.”
“I like my apartment, Mom. And with my new job I can easily afford the rent on my own,” I said tiredly. I was already exhausted and I had just gotten there. It wasn’t a good indication of how the evening was going to pan out.
“Why waste your money on your own place when you have a beautiful room just upstairs. You wouldn’t have to pay for anything,” Mom protested. She took me by the elbow and steered me towards the stairs. “Go up and have a look at what my decorator did with the space. I’ll be up in a minute. I just need to check on the casserole.”
Ugh. Casserole. My mother loved making them and I hated eating them. They tasted like bitterness and resentment.
But I did as she asked.
I climbed the stairs opened the door to the room I had grown up in. As I had suspected, all remnants of my childhood were gone. Gone. Except for the small brown teddy bear I had slept with as an infant. Mr. Itchy—strange name, I know—sat in the middle of my queen sized bed that was no longer covered in pink and black checks, but now sported a very classy green and white stripped duvet.
The walls had been painted cream and the large picture window was dressed in heavy green damask. My mother had even gone so far as to replace my old vanity with an antique table and cushioned bench. A brand new laptop sat on top.
I sighed heavily, walking further into the room. Mom’s decorator had done a great job. If it had been a hotel. Because it felt sterile. Cold.
Sort of like my relationship with my parents.
There was nothing in the space that screamed Gracie Cook. But I knew that my mother would expect me to be pleased with the transformation. She loved it, so of course I should too.
“What do you think?” My mom stood in the doorway and inspected her handy work. She pointed at the window. “The material for the curtains was very expensive. But I think it turned on wonderfully.”
“Where are my books? My posters?” I asked.