Dad remains quiet, and I knew he wasn’t a fan of what I was doing with my life. In fact, he was the first person to tell me I shouldn’t be part of such trivial and mindless television. Of course he would say that—Ash was his favorite.
When I signed the dotted line to appear on the show, we didn’t speak for weeks until I cried over the phone and told him that I loved him and needed him to support me. That moment defined our relationship. He admitted that he wanted only the best for me and would support me as long as I was happy.
The problem now—I wasn’t happy. But I kept it to myself, playing the part of the happy fiancée because I didn’t know any different and because the web I weaved for myself seemed tangled and impossible to get out of.
We drive through the leafy town of Green Meadows—a place that had been home since the moment I left my mother’s womb. It’s a gorgeous day; blue skies with a small array of clouds clustered in the far east. The air outside is warm, so I open the windows to feel the warmth against my plane-ridden skin.
Every place in Green Meadows had a memory. The corner shop where I would ride my bike and buy candy with money I stole from Ash’s room, to the large oak tree that sat in the middle of the town square shading the playground equipment.
Resting back into the seat, I watch the familiar places as we drive by and head towards home. Turning the corner, the streets become wider and the houses grander until I see our house in full view.
It still takes my breath away. The two-story red brick home partially covered in vine. When I was younger, it looked like a mansion. It’s funny how as we grow, our perception changes.
Dad drives the car in the driveway until we’re parked adjacent to the front doors. He exits the car and begins unloading my belongings when the door opens and I see Mom peeking her head out.
“Emmy!”
Running out the door with a joyous smile, she impatiently waits for me to exit the car. I quickly do so and jump straight into her arms, burying my head in her shoulder like I did when I was a kid. She still smells the same: lavender mixed with strawberries and vanilla. Some fruity flowery perfume that my grandmother used to always wear.
With my face buried in her long black hair, tears fall down my cheeks as the reality of being home sinks in. This is just what I needed—Family. Life had been so hectic over the past year that I ignored my desperate need to be here. A place that means so much more than brick and mortar.
Mom pulls me back, studying my face with her palms pressed against my tear-streaked cheeks. “Hey kid, why the tears?”
“Just . . . I . . .” I stammer on my words, trying to control my emotions. “I missed you.”
“Gee, I didn’t get a greeting like that,” Dad mumbles under his breath as he walks past, carrying the bags inside and disappearing up the large staircase.
“Don’t mind him,” Mom says softly. “C’mon, I’ve made your favorite cake.”
“The rainbow cake vomiting the M&M’s?”
Mom laughs, closing the door behind her. “You make it sound so appetizing. Go get settled in your room and come down when you’re ready. And while you’re up there, try to see if your sister is alive. I haven’t seen her all day.”
I lean across the countertop, my hands moving towards the cake with delight. The cake is just how I always remembered it: four colorful layers with cream filling in between. When you sliced the middle open, the M&M’s poured out displaying its yummy goodness.
I had showered and got changed into a casual sundress with no plans to go anywhere tonight. And just like Mom had asked, I stopped by my sister Tayla’s room to be ignored as usual. Apparently, she was going through that teen attitude stage. At sixteen, she was the baby of the family; Mom admitting to me that she was the result of a weekend away at Vegas with a bottle of Moscato. Something I did not need to know.
The cake is calling my name so I dig in, chatting with Mom as she stands opposite me. I may be bias, but Mom is insanely beautiful. She wears her long black hair out as usual—her reading glasses perched on her head pulling her hair out of her face. Wearing minimal makeup, her skin is flawless and naturally clear. At family parties, my aunties would moan about the amount of Botox Mom apparently had. Zero. They were jealous women looking for any reason to pick on their little sister. I never understood how jealously could become such an unhealthy obsession until I started to mingle with the Hollywood crowd.
“So, what’s happening and what was that text last night about Wes being a moron?”
Sliding my fork sideways, I scoop another piece of heaven and bring it to my mouth.
“It’s not George’s fault. He’s bored and we haven’t been paying as much attention to him as we should be.”
“Still, that dog of yours has expensive taste,” Mom casually adds, sliding a glass of homemade lemonade towards me. She knows the way to my stomach.
“I think he’s gay.”
“You think your dog is gay?”
“He only chews on Versace shoes, plus one time at the dog park, he totally just sat there and watched another male dog hump the streetlamp.”
Mom laughs, almost spitting out her drink. “Hollywood dog parks seem more controversial than here.”
“You’re telling me. Plenty of bitches.” I laugh with her. “And about Wes . . . I’m over his immature behaviour. He wants to party and hang out with his so-called friends like he is eighteen again. Didn’t we outgrow this already? I’m all for a drink now and then but grow up already.” I air out my frustrations, not realizing how heavy it weighed on my shoulders. It felt good to chat to Mom in person, and if anyone could understand me, she would.
“Maybe you’re taking life too seriously?”