Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
As I get closer to the office, the smell of lavender seeps into my senses. Jana, the owner, is always burning some kind of herbal scent to help her relax, think more clearly, or be more energized. She swears by the power of her infuser and has tried to convince me to get my own more than once, but I still have yet to buy into the hype. As soon as I turn the corner, I see her sitting at her desk with her eyes glued to her computer, her dark red hair up in a ponytail and her glasses pushed up on top of her head.
“Hey, you.” She turns in her chair, smiling at me after I knock on her open door to get her attention.
“Do you have a minute?” I ask, walking in and taking a seat across from her.
“If you’re going to tell me you’re quitting, you need to stand back up and leave.” She points toward the door laughing, and a fresh wave of tears fills my eyes. “Oh, God. Are you quitting?” she questions, sounding horrified.
“I need to leave town for a while, and I’m not sure how long I will be gone,” I admit regretfully, trying to wipe the tears that are now streaming down my cheeks.
“What happened? Is everything okay?” She stands, bringing a box of Kleenex around to where I’m sitting and taking a seat next to me.
Pulling a tissue from the box, I wipe my eyes then break down and tell her about the phone call I just received.
~**~
Sitting across from my stepmom later that evening, I wait for her to react. I wait for her to answer my question and admit she has been lying to me, that she kept me from the only living connection I have to my mom. Even though I know I’m waiting in vain, I still wait. I silently beg her to look me in the eye and be honest.
When my mom died and my dad married her, I tried to understand how he could spend twenty years of his life with my mom then move on so quickly after she passed away. I didn’t get it, but I loved my dad, so I supported him. I even tried to have a relationship with Colleen, because I knew it would make him happy. It never worked; she was never interested in getting to know me, and my dad was always oblivious to the lack of a bond between us, a bond that never developed even after my dad passed away when I was sixteen.
“Why did you tell me she died?” I repeat the question I asked as soon as we got seated at our table in the fancy restaurant she chose for us to meet at. Like always, she looks perfect. Her blonde hair is back in a tight bun, her makeup sophisticated, and her suit feminine but powerful. She’s nothing like my mom, who wore floral floor-length skirts with colorful tops, and so much silver jewelry that you could always hear her coming from a mile away. I never got how my dad could go from one end of the spectrum to the other, from someone who was full of energy and life to someone who always appeared as cold as a dead fish.
“She wasn’t right in the head,” she finally says, folding her napkin on her lap and picking up her glass of water, taking a sip and still avoiding looking at me.
“She’s my grandmother.”
“She wanted you to live with her.” Her eyes meet mine and I watch her lips press tightly together. “Imagine living with that woman.” Her lip curls up and I shake my head.
Her opinion doesn’t surprise me. She’s always been judgmental; she’s always thought she was better than everyone. My grandmother, just like my mom, was or maybe still is different than most women nowadays. Grandma grew her own vegetables, made jam when certain fruits were in season, sewed her own clothes, and knitted her own sweaters, and she started to teach me how to do all those things too after my mom passed away. I thought I would have her to lean on after my dad died when I was sixteen, but was told the news she had also passed away a week after my father’s funeral.
“You should be thanking me for saving you from that. What kind of life would that have been?”
“Thanking you?” I whisper in disbelief and disgust.
“I didn’t have to accept responsibility for you after your father passed away.”
“You’re right. You didn’t. But you also would have been out of a lot of money if you hadn’t. I read the will; I know part of the stipulations for you receiving money was you taking over custody of me,” I remind her, and her nostrils flare.