I walk over to the window next to the door, peeking through the curtain to see who it is.
I groan. I want to be relieved that it’s not some creepy ass dude outside my door, holding a gun and spouting about how if he can’t have me, nobody can. Really, I do.
So all I am is a little sad that it’s not the persistent shadow ready to end my life.
With a heavy sigh, I swing open the door and greet Sarina Reilly—my mother. Her blonde hair is tucked tightly into a chignon, pink lipstick painted on her thin lips, and icy blue eyes.
She’s so prim and proper, and I’m so… not. Where she holds herself with regality and grace, I have a terrible habit of slumping and sitting with my legs open.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mom?” I ask dryly. She sniffs, unimpressed with my attitude.
“It’s cold out here. Aren’t you going to invite me in?” she snips, waving an impatient hand for me to move.
When I reluctantly step aside, she pushes past me, a wisp of her Chanel perfume trailing in her wake. I cringe at the smell.
My dear mother looks around the manor, distaste evident on her pinched face.
She grew up in this gothic house, and the darkness of the interior must’ve influenced the insides of her heart.
“You’re going to get wrinkles if you keep looking at the house like that,” I deadpan, shutting the door and brushing past her.
She huffs at me, her heels clicking against the checkered tiles as she makes her way to the couch. The fire is roaring, and the lights are dim, creating a cozy atmosphere. It’ll start raining soon, and I really hope she leaves by then so I can enjoy my night in with a book and the sound of thunder in peace.
Mom sits daintily on the couch, her butt perched on the very edge.
If I poke her, she’ll fall off.
“Always a pleasure, Adeline,” she sighs, her tone high and mighty, as if it’s just another day of her being the bigger person.
That sigh. The backdrop to my entire childhood. It’s filled with disappointment and met expectations all at once. I never disappoint in disappointing her, I guess.
“Why are you here?” I ask, getting straight to the point.
“Can’t I come visit my daughter?” she asks with an edge of bitterness in her tone.
Mom and I were never close. She was bitter because Nana and I were, resulting in me choosing her over Mom often. In arguments and where I spent most of my time growing up.
In return, I harbored resentment because I was made to feel like I couldn’t choose her. Because if I did, I would only be rewarded with another underhanded comment about eating another cookie I can’t afford.
She’d complain my ass would get too fat, but little did she know, that’s exactly what I wanted.
To this day, the woman still doesn’t understand why I don’t particularly like her.
“Are you here to try and convince me that I’m wasting my life away in an old house?” I query, throwing myself into the rocking chair by the window and propping my feet up on the stool.
The same one my great-grandmother and I tend to get stalked in.
Sitting in this chair forces my thoughts back to last night, the creepy note and answering all of two questions from the police officer before he said he’d hold on to it for evidence and make a report.
Waste of time, but at least the police will know that it was foul play if I end up dead in a ditch somewhere.
“I have an open house today in town. I figured I’d stop by and see you beforehand.”
Ah. That explains it. My mom wouldn’t drive an hour to come to visit me just to have a tea party and play nice. She was in town, so she decided to come lecture me.
“Do you want to know why Parsons Manor deserves to be torn down, Adeline?” she asks, her tone dripping with condescension. She sounds like she’s about to school me, and suddenly I feel very wary.
“Why?” I ask quietly.