I lay there on my bed, awake after sleeping for what felt like a century but was only [as I checked the clock] 2 hours. I eyed the state of the art clock that dad had given me on the wall by my flat screen.
My iPod was still on shuffle, playing ‘Warzone’ by [again] The Wanted.
They were my favourite band of all time and not to add, they were all smoking.
My favourite would definitely be Nathan.
Those greenish/blue eyes of his just screamed out ‘Hottie’.
I sank into my pillow and the smell of mint hit my nose.
It still smelt of Evan and [again] I made a mental note to burn the sheet.
“Aurora,” I heard the undeniable voice of my mum say from the other side of the door, followed by her knuckles hitting the pine crested door frame.
“Dammit,” I swore under my breath as he voice told me that she hadn’t had the decency to let herself out after my 2 hour long disappearance.
“What?” I muttered my words muffled by the pillow.
“Aurora!” she yelled.
“WHAT?” I yelled out, my words louder now as I’d removed my head from the pillow muffling it.
“We need to talk,” her voice wasn’t loud but it was definitely determined and firm. “Open up, will ya?”
I heard her fingers around the doorknob, trying to force it open.
“AURORA!” she yelled, when it didn’t open.
“Go back downstairs. I’ll be down in a bit,” I said as I planted my face into the pillow again. Yep, the smell was definitely mint.
“I’ll be expecting you down in five minutes tops,” she announced, “or else!”
I knew better than to force out a juvenile ‘Or what?’ or argue so 2 minutes later, I got off my bed and pulled on a red jumper that hung over my pair of Bally mini-shorts and headed downstairs for my impending doom.
Mom sat by the leather sofa, legs crossed and her fingers wrapped around a glass of champagne.
My breath caught.
This can’t be good. No good news comes when mom is already downing a glass of champagne before noon.
Before taking my last step before mom could see me clearly, I ran a hand through my bedridden state of brown locks, trying to make myself look the least bit presentable.
Walking into the living room, my footsteps echoed in the condo as I made my way towards the safe haven of the armchair across from mom.
Plopping down on it, I took my first glance at mom since noting she was there.
My eyes widened at her appearance.
She was usually presentable, make up perfectly applied, hair perfectly styled, everything perfect.
But now… if I didn’t recognize the bracelet I’d gotten her from Paris around her wrist, I would’ve thought her an impostor.
My mom wouldn’t let her mascara run down her face, her blue eyes red as dried up tears left moist behind in their place. Her red hair was a strew as if she’d just been pulled out of a tornado.
The only calm thing about her was her perfect manicured hand around the glass, steady.
I bit back the many questions threatening to explode.
What happened? Are you okay? Who do I need to kill?
The last one of course was purely fiction but was totally called for from a daughter that loved her mother. Because that was the case.
I loved mom with my whole heart and seeing her like this…. I was contemplating murder a thousand fold.
Before I got any word in, mom sighed.
Her eyes latched onto mine, betraying no emotion.
I was stunned.
Her eyes were always full of emotion.
Love, hate, anger and sadness.
Though bad the emotions may be, they were still that. Emotions.
Now, her blue eyes were distant. Vacant and empty.
“Mom?” I managed to say after a minute of trying to form words.
Even with that much effort, my voice was scratchy as if I hadn’t said anything in a month or a year.
She held up a finger for silence as I swallowed hard.
I heeded her warning and gently shut my mouth.
“Do y’know what Gramps Nick said to me while I was in college?” she asked me, her voice was different.
It lacked the warmth she usually had for me.
I shrugged, unsure of where this conversation was going, but knowing mom she would have a point. Besides I hadn’t even known my Gramps Nick.
Last time I’d seen him face to face was the summer I turned ten and even before that I’d only seen him three… maybe four times.
He wasn’t dead. Not yet at least.
It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen him since then though. I did.
Oh how I did.
His face was plastered onto the television screen every two weeks, trying to pass a law or a new constitution.
See, Gramps Nick [as mom referred to him, because no way would I call him that] was the most loved Senator of his age. Senator Nicholas Smith-Conrad, the sixty-five year old, built like a linebacker New Yorker that made it big in DC.
Mom cleared her throat, trying to get back my attention.
“Umm… What did he say?” I asked.
“He said, ‘Every opportunity is golden. When given one, take it with both hands firmly grasped onto it,’.”
“And this applies to me…. How?” I couldn’t resist asking it.
“You, my darling are in for a ripe opportunity right now.”
“What exactly is this… ‘Opportunity’?”
“I… found you a… boyfriend.”
My world literally shattered as I stared at her.
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