Chapter Three - Michaela
Chapter Three
MICHAELA
MOST TIMES, I HATE this place, but I still miss it. I miss home. The warm feeling it brings when you drive down familiar streets and know what lies around every corner. You can turn the GPS off and coast because you know exactly where you’re going — you’ve done it over ten thousand times. The way of a stranger as you pass each other on the street, never thinking twice about it. Everything stays the same as it always has been.
I had always dreamed of leaving Bridgeport, I thought moving to would solve my problems. Things were starting to look up: David and I had been going steady for a while, I had just gotten a promotion (with a corner office), and I was finally moving to my dream city, New York! What could go wrong? Everything. Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic, but one by one, it felt like everything started to crash and burn. And now, I’m left wondering who the hell is Michaela Jane Davis?
I follow the winding road toward the back of my parents’ subdivision. Each home sits back from the road a few hundred feet on a wooded lot with at least three-quarters of an acre. Pulling into the driveway of my childhood home, I feel some of the tension melt away. The split-level home is a combination of white siding and gray bricks with a door as dark as midnight that Josh and I helped paint years ago. We may or may not have gotten into a small paint war and ended up with black smudges on us for days. Mom’s rose bushes that line the front of the house are in full bloom, and it makes me smile; she loves her rose bushes. Tending to them was one of her favorite pastimes, something neither Josh nor I picked up on. Maybe this will be good. Maybe getting away from the city will help me wade through the swamp of thoughts that have settled in my mind. Until tomorrow, when I’ll be staring one of them in the face.
Nope.
Nope, not gonna think about it right now.
I’m going to focus on how it feels good to be home. I haven’t spent much time in Bridgeport since I moved two years ago. I was never a fan of the small-town living. I suppose it’s because we didn’t get many opportunities to travel while growing up. Sure, Mom and Dad tried to treat us to different trips occasionally, but we never got to spend holidays away. Spring breaks were spent traveling to Hilton Head or Wilmington — in eighth grade, they splurged and took us to Disney World. Summers were for sports and work. Winters were for work and family.
I spent most of my childhood dreaming of living in the big city, and I don’t mean Charlotte. That was our “treat” growing up. New York City has always been the goal. Nina and I bonded over it, so when she offered me the opportunity to take over the office, it felt unreal that I’d get to live my dream.
And, it was a dream…for a while.
I don’t attribute my lackluster experience to David; I won’t give him that much credit, but a small part of me knows he has something to do with it. New York was supposed to be our fresh start. The place where we could build their lives together. But, as time went on, I found myself wishing for some of the charm of my hometown. I’d never tell anyone that. Especially not my parents. They were too excited about me moving, and then David popped the question only a month after we moved. It was everything I ever wanted... I can't stand the thought of their disappointment when they learn the truth.
My mother swings the door open before I reach the bottom step, and I’m swept into a tight embrace. “Finally!”
“Hi, Mom.”
“You’re skin and bones, MJ. Have you been eating?”
“I’m fine.”
“Patrick, look at her. She’s smaller than the last time we saw her.” I roll my eyes. She always says the same thing. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, missy. It's my job as your mother to worry about you."
“Leave the girl alone, Jen,” Dad steps down into the foyer pulling me into a hug. “C’mon, your brother and Elizabeth will be here soon. Dinner is ‘bout done. Let’s get you settled before they get here.” He picks up my bags and carries them downstairs to my bedroom.
“Honey, where’s David? I thought he was coming with you,” my mother asks, following us inside.
“Oh… He had to work.” The lie comes out easier than it should, but lately, I’ve had to come up with more and more excuses as to why no one has seen my husband in the last two months. “Barnes needed him last minute for some meeting.”
“Don’t act so surprised, Jen,” Dad says returning from downstairs. “He barely got away for their honeymoon.” He sounds more annoyed than usual. Dad has always found David's lack of boundaries when it comes to work annoying, but he doesn’t usually express his displeasure so outwardly.
"I'm just sayin’, it would be nice to see our son-in-law from time to time."
"I'm going to go change before dinner," I excuse myself before they ask me anything more about their soon-to-be ex-son-in-law.
My parents told me they had asked Nina for some pointers on redecorating the house, including my old room, but I didn’t think it would be like this. There isn't an ounce of me left. Long gone are the lime green walls, pink comforter, and widespread photo collage that took up half a wall. They’d even taken down my Empire Strikes Back movie poster. It had all been replaced by white walls, grey sheets, and a photograph of Mount Kirkjufell, which I recognized as one Elizabeth had taken on our family trip to Iceland a few years ago after Dad retired. I wonder if they finally did the same to Josh’s old room… It had remained the same after he moved out, ready and waiting for him anytime he returned. I guess I won’t be afforded the same luxury.
“Knock, knock,” the gentle voice of my sister-in-law cuts through my thoughts. She leans against the door frame with a small smile. Her blonde hair has been lopped off, now resting on her shoulders. It’s very different compared to what I’m used to. I almost don’t recognize her. “Can I come in?”
“Of course."
Elizabeth pulls her legs underneath her when she sits on the bed. When my brother started dating Elizabeth, she always ensured I felt included — unlike most of his other girlfriends. I think it comes from her traumatic past, but whatever it is, I’m thankful for the friendship their relationship has brought me. Sometimes, I forget how much I loved being able to have a sister’s night whenever we wanted. Living in New York, I can’t call her up and invite her over on a random Tuesday night; I only get to see her whenever one of us is in town. “So, wanna talk about it?”
“I guess it depends on what ‘it’ is.”
“I may have heard things didn’t end so well when Nin was in town.”
I laugh, “Of course she told you.”
“Technically, she didn’t tell me. She told Nick, who told Josh, who told me, and then I may have asked her about it.”
“What did she have to say?”
“What do you think she said?”
“I’m on my last leg, one wrong move, and I’m out.”
“Something like that,” she says. “What’s going on, Mic?” Elizabeth reaches across the bed and takes my hand in hers. “This isn’t like you. I mean, yeah, you’ve always run on ‘MJ Time,’” we both laugh because it’s true, “but this is different. It’s not five or ten minutes here and there; you're constantly late or missing things. It seems like ever since we got back from Italy something has changed... You’ve barely talked to anyone; you bite our heads off when you do.”
"Everything is fine."
“Look, you don’t have to tell me if you don't want to, but I’m here if you need to talk.”
“There's nothing to worry about. Everything is perfect.” I can tell she wants to fight me on this, but squeeze her hand reassuringly. "If something was wrong, I'd tell you. I promise." I hate the way the lies flow so easily. Kind of feels like the truth and I aren’t related right now.
“There you are,” Mom calls from the doorway. “Elizabeth, Josh was looking for you.”
Wait a second, did Elizabeth just roll her eyes? That's odd...
“I should probably go," Elizabeth sighs, "he has an early morning tomorrow.” She squeezes my hand and gives me a brief smile. “I’ll see you on Saturday?”
I nod before she gives Mom a brief hug goodbye. When she’s gone, Mom slowly makes her way into my room — cautious. “Dad’ll bring up your stuff soon,” she still stands a few feet from me. “I figured you'd want to go through it on your own time. Decide what to keep and what to get rid of.”
“Didn’t waste any time getting rid of me, did you, Mom?”
“Don’t be so dramatic, MJ.”
“Drama is my middle name.”
Mom rolls her eyes and pulls me up from my bed by the shoulders. She leads me in comfortable silence to the kitchen, where two red mugs sit on the counter.
“I’m surprised Nin let you repaint the cabinets black.” Nina loves a clean look, rarely does she use dark colors on top cabinets.
“She liked ‘em, especially with the new countertops,” Mom says and stirs the contents of the mugs. The fairy-white quartz countertops and white farmhouse sink do brighten up the space, despite the black. I wouldn’t have picked it, but whatever makes them happy. “You’re not upset we asked her, are you?”
“She’s here, it made sense.”
She isn’t really, but I couldn’t tell Mom that. Nina had been spending a lot of time in Los Angeles and West Palm Beach handling the new offices, but she didn’t want my parents to know. She made the time to run home and handle everything with their project herself. She asked me if I wanted to take over, but I assured her I did not want the task of helping my parents remodel my childhood home.
Per usual, Dad went to bed not too long after dinner, he has an early morning on the golf course — retirement looks good on him. So, it’s me and Mom for the rest of the night. Mom pulls the chair out next to me and pushes a warm cup of hot cocoa towards me. My mom’s homemade hot cocoa is one of the things I miss most about not living at home anymore. I’ve tried many times to recreate it, but can never seem to get it right — there is something special about the recipes only your mom can make for you.
“You wanna talk about it?”
Why does everyone keep asking me that? Am I that obvious?
“Oh c’mon, MJ. I know something is bothering you. It’s written all over your face, not to mention I could tell the last few times we’ve talked.”
“Everything is fine, Ma.”
“I believe that like I believe your father eats the lunches I pack for him every morning.” Daddy has never been known to eat his lunch. He usually passes it off to one of the guys opting to go out to lunch with a few friends. “Is it David — are you guys having trouble?”
“No, we’re fine.”
Lie.
“Are you sure? I mean, every time you talk about him, it seems—”
“I said, we’re fine .”
“You know you can talk to me.”
“Everything is fine, there’s just a lot going on for both of us. Barnes keeps him extremely busy.”
My mother’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes over her mug, “There always is.”