Chapter 2 #2
Louisa finishes off with a gulp of water before answering, “You’d be bored to tears, Mom, trust me, I am. It’s nothing like what you think, all business talk.” She waves her fork in the air. “Besides, you know Indie doesn’t like those kinda things.”
Mom presses her lips into a thin line, the real reason completely different to what Louisa thinks it is. I had Mom promise not to tell her when she got back from her year out.
My sister thinks I’m anti-social due to heartbreak, which is a blurred version of the truth.
Mom then shifts her focus to me, her eyes and voice softening. “What about you, Indie? How are you and Regina getting on?”
“Work’s steady, can’t complain. We’re busy with month end stuff, hoping to get in a few more employees due to our growth by the end of the year.”
I make sure to answer through a mouthful; it helps ease the tone of my partial lies.
We’re faceless behind the real company; the legitimate work my family knows about is the front. Even then, we’re mostly in the background, and we pull substantial figures from the marks.
Regina’s able to work some magic behind the screens to launder the funds together. It’s all too much for me to wrap my technical novice head around.
A phone ringing slices through the steady conversation, and my sister excuses herself from the table whilst I help Mom clear the empty plates.
“How’s things with you and Morgan?” I ask her, drying the dishes as she hands them to me.
“We’re still just friends, Indie. But… we’re headed for a few days’ break in a couple of weeks. So, anything could happen really, maybe it’ll progress.”
The faintest smile edges on her lips, along with a subtle and undeniable blush.
“Oh, so you’re heading into that kind of friendship,” I tease, earning me a swat with a soapy hand.
My dad passed away just before I headed into the middle of my last year of university. He’s the reason I have the foundations to handle myself. He was in the military, killed during an overseas deployment.
He was adamant that his daughters knew how to defend themselves with their hands and a gun, much to our mom’s dismay.
With the horrors he saw throughout his career, he wanted us to be able to fight back. Taught us as soon as we were old enough to swing a right hook.
It’s a skill I never knew just how much I would need in my adult years. One I wish I had mastered much, much sooner.
Maybe things would have turned out differently.
Justice isn’t a word some of us would use around here, especially if your name wields no power against theirs.
“I’m just glad you’re happy, Mom,” I admit with a smile. It’s hard seeing your mom with another man.
Morgan’s a nice regular guy and he’s been hanging around for years, though she’ll never truly move on from my dad; he was her first and only love.
I can imagine she’s been lonely, so if this brings her some joy in life, I’m happy for her, even envy her ability to try.
The thought causes emotion to coat my throat, and I quietly clear it away.
Louisa barges into the kitchen. “Sorry, I need to go—work emergency,” she rushes out whilst giving Mom a hug.
She eyes me over her shoulder before giving me one, squeezing a little bit harder than she did Mom, and I do it right back as our strangled laughs fill the air.
“I know a personal shopper I can put you in touch with,” she whispers in my ear, then diverts out of my insult earshot. Her fancy heels clacking and tailormade suit swoosh around at the speed she stomps out the house.
Louisa has style, but it’s not for me. Hoodies and leggings for the win.
“She never stops, your sister.”
I slide my gaze over Mom, standing with her hands on her hips, looking like the proudest parent in the world; it coaxes a lopsided smile of my own.
“She’s going to have a heart attack if she doesn’t sit on her ass for more than five minutes. Those pancakes haven’t even had time to make their way to her digestive system,” I mumble, putting the rest of the dishes back into their respective homes.
“As will you, you’re always working so late at night. You should be enjoying what’s left of your twenties! It all goes downhill when you hit thirty, honey.”
I release an exasperated breath and pinch my nose. “Mom, please. A lot has changed since your generation. Thirties are actually said to be just the beginning.”
I’m only twenty-eight, but my mom has this wild belief in a stereotype that I should be married and have at least two kids by this age.
And to be honest, it was something I thought would be in the pipeline for me, especially nearing the end of university.
It’s funny how one moment in your life can tear apart everything you ever knew, everything you’d hoped for. One unaware decision can set off a chain of events you never thought possible.
That realisation hovers over you forever.
Mom walks up to me, noticing me getting lost in my head, and pulls me in for a hug.
It’s one of those motherly ones that wraps around your vulnerability, soothing the remnants of a long-surviving ache.
“I just want you to live life the best you can.”
I pull back from her, holding her at arm’s length. Those icy blue eyes, that mirror all three of us Kent women, are etched with concern.
It’s lessened over the years, but the weight still lingers deep within them—it scared her too.
“I do, Mom. In my own way.” I force a smile at her.
I might not live my life as most people do, partying, dating, even travelling the world. Just knowing I help others get something we never had the opportunity to have, is good enough for me.
Peace is something unappreciated in life.
She gives me one last hug before we say our goodbyes, and I head out into the chill mid-morning air, rushing to get into the car and crank the heating up.
And like clockwork, when I’ve allowed my mind to dwell too deep in everything I box up, I pull my phone out.
I hover over one of the many apps Regina has made for work. But this one I use to torture myself with the past.
The what ifs.
The wonder and longing.
My heart aches with hope every time I open the livestream. I could just as easily take the drive over; it’s only minutes from here.
But I can’t; I’m not brave enough.
I face men who’ve done horrific crimes, done incomprehensible things to women like me.
Killed them with my bare hands for it.
But seeing that house lying vacant in real life? It’s the only thing that truly scares me.
That solidifies my reality.
That’s the only thing that will demolish everything I’ve rebuilt, force me to realise, I’ll spend the rest of my life never looking into those grey eyes again.
If only my head had been as clear as it is now.
The familiar house fills the screen, and like always, the budding feelings fizzle out as quickly as they came.
He’s not there.
He never is.
I know deep down I’ll never get my wish, but the denial runs thick like the blood in my veins.
I can’t ever seem to drain myself of it.