NeaGroaning as I roll over, I try to hide my face from the bright, golden sunlight streaming through the window. Sunday mornings are my favorite because I’ll lounge around the apartment, eat junk food, and just be a slob. It’s the one decadence I’ve given myself.
After my mother passed away, I drove myself into a depression so dark and so scary I almost admitted myself to an institution. Phoebe was the one to pull me out. To slap me back to life. She was right; my mother wouldn’t have wanted me to close myself off, to hurt myself because I was sad.
My mother, Patricia, was strong. She fought that fucker called cancer for months, and even in the end—when she knew her time was up—she didn’t waver.
Thinking about her always makes me sad. Remembering how she’d always know how to cheer me. She was there through every milestone of my life—playing both mother and father.
I was nine when my father walked out. At the time, I didn’t know what had happened. I waited for him to come home, to walk in from a long day at work or from a holiday he decided to take, but it never happened. After I’d turned fourteen, I finally had enough and forced my mother to tell me what happened.
The asshole up and left to live with another woman. When mom fell ill, he didn’t even bother calling me. Even if he did, I would have informed him that if he ever set foot in my life again, I’d get a restraining order. I didn’t hate him, not anymore. I was merely guarding myself from the pain.
The heartache of losing someone you love, someone you believed loved you. Nothing can prepare you for that kind of agony. It started with my father, and each boyfriend I had since I started dating, when I turned sixteen, had been the same.
Men are creatures of habit. They surge into your life like a hot summer breeze, whip you around in their storm, and spit you out like the remnants of a tornado, leaving you just a shell of what they found.
That’s why I’ve vowed off the male species. And even my best friend can’t sway me. If I grow old with fifty cats, then so be it, but I’ll never allow myself to have my heart broken again.
I need to focus on my new life. My new journey that starts with a long flight home and preparing for an interview that could change my life. New Orleans has always been on my bucket list of places to live one day, but it was nothing more than a pipe dream since my foster family lived nowhere near there.
They were good to me, giving me anything I needed to further my studies, and when they surprised me with tuition to Yale, I was speechless. I will forever be grateful to them for taking me in.
My foster mother used to tell me I was a miracle. Even at sixteen, which is normally older than most people would adopt, they took one look at me and knew I was special. They’d lost their child too young. A drunk driver, who sped off after knocking her off her bike, was never found.
When the opportunity came up to live in Italy after I’d finished my studies and got my degree, I jumped at the chance. A one year paid apprenticeship at an art gallery in one of the most picturesque cities in Europe. Thankfully, it’s given me more than enough savings to be comfortable until my first paycheck. And when I get home, I can pay my own way.
Opening my laptop, I click on the browser and immediately type Elliot plantation house. Not far down the search results, a five-star rating grabs my attention.Owned and operated by the Elliot family for more than thirty-five years, this picturesque property is in a league of its own. The gardens are filled with some of the finest botanicals and a small maze to keep the little ones busy.
Mr. Elliot says of his home: “This will one day be my son’s. Julian will take over and make me proud. All my hard work, all the time and effort I’ve put in, is for him. When I lost my wife, Julian’s mother, I had to focus on the little time we’re given on this earth, and that made me want to dream big. And here I am.”
If you’re in NOLA at any time of the year, this is one place you wouldn’t want to pass by. Rated five stars by our critic on both quality and service.My heart goes out to Julian Elliot in that moment. Losing his mother and then his dad. Granted, my father is alive and well somewhere, but to lose a parent is something I’d never wish on anyone. Perhaps I was right. Maybe he’s hurting. I know when Mom died, all I wanted to do was hide. To lock myself away and never see the sun again.